Mission to Dol Guldur
by Vialco
Summary: A chronicle of the events leading up to and following Gandalf the Grey's journey into the dark fortress of Dol Guldur in the year 2063 of the Third Age under the Sun.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The great trees of Mirkwood creaked and groaned in the afternoon breeze. The rays of the afternoon sun barely made it through the thick canopy of the great forest, filling the clearings beneath the trees with a dull twilight. Within one such clearing lay an aged outpost, its cracked stone walls painted grey under the murky light. Standing a full five stories tall, the stilted structure rose through the upper reaches of the forest, its stone summit thrusting beyond the nearby treetops, allowing its occupants to survey the lay of the land for many miles.

No watchers stood on the summit of this tower though. The cobblestone roof was desolate and dusty; clearly no one had set foot on it in some time. The robust wall surrounding the observation platform was strangled with dark thorny vines that were creeping up the sides of the tower. The afternoon breeze grew into a strong wind that blew through the wide clearing, scattering leaves with great force and filling the empty structure with a mournful wail.

Even as the wind was tearing through the wide dell, the faint sound of booted feet on solid flagstones began to echo through the forest. The steps grew steadily louder and suddenly there were soldiers in the clearing. Marching in from the Great Forest Road that stretched throughout Mirkwood came two dozen Elven warriors. Garbed in the light brown tunics and breeches that blended naturally with the forest, each of the warriors bore a pair of short swords on hip-slung scabbards. In their hands, each Elven warrior held an elegantly carved longbow with a quiver of arrows slung on their backs.

The Elves streamed into the clearing, swiftly approaching the abandoned watchtower. As they neared the derelict structure, one of the Elves, blond-haired and blue-eyed with a lithe build, called out in a clear voice.

"Hail Captain Navari!"

His greeting resounded throughout the clearing, echoing off the solid walls of the keep. But the echo of his own voice was the only response he received. Urgent concern flashed across the blonde Elf's smooth features and his handsome face contorted in apprehension. He turned swiftly to the tall dark-haired Elf that stood mere feet away from him.

"Captain Orcin, take half the troops and scout the clearing," he commanded sharply, "The rest of you, come with me!"

The captain's hazel eyes flashed in alarm and he nodded sharply, "Yes, my Lord Legolas," he replied in a strong voice. Turning to his company, he uttered sharp commands and half of the Elves broke formation and fanned out swiftly to the edges of the clearing, their sharp steel blades ringing on their scabbards as they raised them to guard.

As his troops secured the perimeter, Legolas strode towards the silent keep, his troops right behind him, their leather boots crunched on the dead leaves that blanketed the forest floor. His pale hands darted down to the gilded sheaths at his hip and he withdrew the twin blades of silver steel that shone in the murky twilight of Mirkwood.

His soldiers did the same and they quickly came to the foot of the tower. Apprehension crept along Legolas's spine as he surveyed the entrance of the fortification in shock. The implacable carved door of the watchtower had been ripped from its wrought-iron hinges and cast aside.

Barking an order to his soldiers to be on guard, Legolas entered the open tower first, his blade held aloft at guard. He crossed the threshold into the darkened foyer of the tower and immediately glanced around the darkened room, his Elven eyes seeing quite clearly in the dimly lit chamber. His troops spread out into the main floor of the keep, scouting out the storerooms and armories located on the ground floor.

"My Lord," shouted one of the Elves from the direction of the armory, "We have found bodies!"

Lowering his sword to his side, Legolas strode towards the source of the voice, turning down a dark musty hallway and coming to a small chamber that had held the weapons for the Woodland garrison that had been stationed at the tower. Bursting into the small room, Legolas's eyes immediately darted to the two Elven warriors who occupied the chamber, one of whom was knelt over a pair of decaying skeletons.

Both bodies were draped in ragged garments of auburn similar to the ones worn by Legolas and his troops. A look of fury came to the Elven-Prince's face and he crouched down next to the corpses of his kin.

"How long have they been dead, Kielen?" the Prince asked the soldier who was also kneeling.

"At least a month, my Lord," Kielen replied, his smooth features recoiling with dismay at the low fate that had befallen their brethren. The warrior's fingers brushed against the mouldering flesh of one of the corpses and lifted it to his nose, sniffing sharply.

"They were poisoned," he said sharply and Legolas's eyes widened in sudden revelation.

"Spiders!" he spat in anger. Springing to his feet he looked down at the bodies, "Kielen, Brene, see to our brother's burial," he said. Turning to the doorway he stepped into the darkened hallway and rushed into the main chamber of the tower.

Several of his soldiers remained there, while the others were scouting the upper levels.

"Meilen, Eeinen, gather your weapons and provender," the Prince commanded to two of his soldiers, a tall dark-haired male and a slightly shorter female with blonde hair a shade darker that Legolas's. The two warriors moved to comply and Legolas continued, "Return to the King's Halls with all speed," he ordered, "Inform his Highness that the spiders have returned to our Southern borders."

Meilen and Eeinen snapped to attention, their provender stowed in their hip-pouches and their longbows slung over their shoulders.

"Tell the King that the spiders assaulted the Tower of Serien and slew the entire garrison. He must send additional troops to the Southern marches immediately so we can reinforce our outpost and reaffirm our borders."

When both Elves nodded their understanding, Legolas looked at them, "Run like the wind," he said, "The sooner we get reinforcements the better."

The soldiers complied and raced out of the keep, their footsteps growing fainter by the second. Once he was satisfied that the messengers were on their way to his father's halls, Legolas turned to one of the remaining soldiers in the atrium.

"Tell Captain Orcin that Captain Navari and his troops were attacked by the spiders," he said to the soldier, "Have him secure the forest perimeter and then join me in the tower. The soldier complied and as he exited the room Legolas ascended the creaking stairs to the second level of the tower, bracing himself to witness the tragic fates of more of his kin.

Legolas spent the next hour surveying the remaining four levels of the tower, witnessing the decaying remains of half the tower's garrison of Wood-Elves. The Elven-Prince quickly put his soldiers to work clearing the keep of the dead and burying them as was the Elvish tradition.

As the full score of Elves in the dell hurried about burying their brethren and restoring order to the fortress, Legolas climbed the stairs to the summit of the tower and stood upon the dull granite roof, staring out at the great fastness of Mirkwood. Many thoughts ran through his mind as he pondered the absence of the bodies of half the Wood-Elves that had been assigned to the tower. It was possible that they had escaped the assault and fled into the heart of the forest. But the more grim possibility that they were now prisoners of the Necromancer weighed heavily on his mind. He stood there for many minutes, surveying the dimming light of the afternoon sun through the dark canopies of the trees.

This far from the halls of the King, the great trees were dark and twisted, their branches weighed down by the dark leaves. Fell things stirred under the woods in this part of the forest. When the darkness had first descended on the Greenwood over a thousand years ago, the Woodland Elves had built many towers like the one Legolas currently stood on to keep an eye on their borders. For near the South end of Mirkwood stood a dark tower, many stories taller than the Tower of Serien. Within that tower lurked a dark sorcerer who was known only as the Necromancer. It was from that fell place that the spiders spawned and came forth into the forest.

As the Elven-Prince cast his gaze upon the trees his eyes darted here and there, looking for any sign of the spiders that had killed Navari's troops. After nearly an hour of surveying the landscape from the high perch and collecting his thoughts, Legolas heard the sound of light footsteps behind him and turned to see the tall broad-shouldered form of Captain Orcin ascend the last of the steps and emerge on the parapet.

"Report," Legolas said in a curt tone, his nerves on edge from being so close to the Tower of the Necromancer.

"I have four of our soldiers burying our comrades," Orcin said, "I have a full dozen still patrolling the edge of the dene and the rest are taking stock of what remains in the tower and are making it habitable again."

Legolas nodded approvingly, "Good work, Captain," he said in a milder tone, "Have half of the patrol move up to the parapet and keep an eye on the forest from high up. Have the rest stand guard around the tower entrance."

"I will do so at once, my Lord," Orcin replied.

"Good," Legolas said, then when Orcin remained on the tower roof, continued, "You have a question."

"Yes, my Lord," the captain said hesitantly, "Do you think we will be attacked here?"

Legolas frowned and his green eyes glimmered with uncertainty, "I cannot be sure," he said after a moment, "Clearly the spiders haven't been here since they slew Navari and his comrades…"

His voice trailed off as he considered the situation, "And yet, I sense an ill omen about this place." He shook his head in consternation, "I do not know what it is, but I know we must be on our guard."

Even as the Elven-Prince uttered the words, in the dark branches of one of the twisted trees, a dark-feathered raven gazed upon the Prince and his Captain, its blood-red eyes watching them with great interest. Then, as the Elven-Prince's gaze was diverted from the trees, it spread its dark wings and took to the air, flapping hard and flying swiftly towards the South.

The dark avian crossed league upon league of forest, soaring over the darkened treetops, its black wings beating furiously. Upon length, the raven reached a vast clearing in the Southern heart of Mirkwood. The darkness appeared to be strongest in this part of the forest with the trees twisted almost beyond recognition and the dark thorny vines choking the old stone pathway that wound between the trees.

At the edge of the clearing the twisted trees fell away and the cracked stone path led into the vast circle that was devoid of any trees. The ground in the heart of the circle steeped sharply upwards, forming a great bald hill upon which stood a mighty tower of stone. The old stone road wound up the hill and came straight to the great doors of the tower which were sealed shut, twin slabs of ebon stone barring entrance to all.

Built from once-majestic basalt, the tower was old and worn, it's stone walls dulled with age. The lower stories were wide and squat, spreading over the entire summit of the hill. The thorny vines had completely infested the lower ramparts, twisting in through shattered windows and winding around crumbling parapets. From the fifth story onwards, the tower grew slimmer and taller, stretching high above the treetops of the surrounding forest. The stone of the upper levels seemed less worn and more robust with the slate-grey walls free of vines and decay.

The structure culminated at the twelfth story, coming to a dark stony point with a high platform that looked out over the great fastness of Mirkwood. The sleek grey stone was virtually untouched by age at the summit and there were narrow windows carved into the mighty walls. The raven soared up to one of the jagged gaps in the unforgiving stone and flew into the summit chamber.

The great hall was vast, with a high vaulted ceiling and tattered ruins of ancient tapestries lining the walls. At the rear of the chamber, past a high altar of carved obsidian was an intricately carved throne of glassy black obsidian. Upon the throne sat a great figure, taller than any man with long spindly limbs and a skeletally-thin frame. The figure was cloaked entirely in robes of pure ebony with its face concealed beneath a wide cowl. The raven flew close and the shadow on the throne reached out with a thin clawed hand that grasped at the raven.

The raven settled onto the coal-black flesh of the shadow's hands and cawed at it fiercely. Beneath the richly embroidered cowl a pair of crimson orbs flashed at the raven's words. A low hiss came from the cloaked figure and it barked a command in a barbarous tongue. From the deep shadows of the throne room, a second cloaked figure, lesser than the first one, hissed in compliance and moved to leave the room, it's black robes gliding along the cracked stone floor.

The raven flapped its wings and soared into the high reaches of the audience chamber, flying towards a window. With its mission complete, the evil bird fled the dark tower with all the haste it could muster, flying off into the darkening sky.

Hours later the Sun was dipping beneath the fold of the Earth and the twilight that managed to penetrate the great canopy of Mirkwood had faded to pitch blackness. The Tower of Serien had been put to order by the Sylvan Elves of Legolas's company and the Prince of Mirkwood sat in what had been Captain Navari's personal quarters.

The Prince was seated at a hand carved wooden table made by a carpenter in the King's Halls. Captain Orcin was seated across from him and the two were sharing a spare meal made from some of the intact provender the Elves had found in the tower's storeroom.

Legolas slowly devoured a piece of white cheese and toyed with a small chunk of salted pork, his manner tense and alert. A mild Eastern wind was whispering through the dell and caressing the Tower of Serien with a featherlike touch. The deep green curtains that lined the windows in the Captain's Quarters fluttered in the light breeze. Legolas tensed at the sound and threw the morsel back onto the plate, his entire body taught with anxiety

"My Lord, what is it?" Orcin asked, his tone laden with concern. The Elven Captain had fought alongside Legolas for over a century and had never seen the Prince look so worried.

Rising from his chair, Legolas strode over to the open window that looked out over the Southern edge of the dene. Planting his hands on the sill, he pushed his head outward and glanced around the clearing. Night had fallen on the dell hours ago and dark clouds had drifted in from the East to cover the Moon, smothering its light and shrouding the forest in a deep darkness that even Legolas's Elven-eyes had difficulty penetrating.

"My Lord, we have the entire company on full alert," Orcin said in a reassuring tone, "Meilen and Eeinen will reach the King's Halls soon and his Highness will dispatch us reinforcements with haste."

The Prince of Mirkwood withdrew from the window and faced his subordinate, "Perhaps," he allowed, "But the shadow of Dol Guldur grows stronger and with it the spiders grow bolder."

He stepped to the small cabinet set against the far wall and withdrew a small flask of cordial. Setting it down on the table, the Prince uncorked the crystal stopper and poured a small allotment of the ruby-red fluid into his tin travel-cup and then poured an equal quantity into Orcin's.

"We will not rest until our reinforcements arrive," Legolas stated, "The miruvor will lend us strength to continue the watch."

Captain Orcin nodded in acknowledgement of his Prince's command and was raising the steel vessel to his lips when a loud scream tore through the clearing. Legolas was back at the window in an instant, his keen Elven-eyes darting across the clearing, seeking the source of the scream. In the dark gloom of the night it took the Prince several moments to spot the source. One of the patrolling Elves was lying on the ground near the edge of the dene, blood pouring from his ankle, belly and neck. A trio of great dark spiders were crawling over his body, their long hairy limbs pinning the soldier down, their sharp mandibles tearing open his flesh and feasting on his blood.

"Sound the alarm!" Legolas shouted at Orcin but even as he spoke, an Elf-horn blasted through the clearing in the sharp bleat that warned of an imminent attack.

"Go and call the sentries back into the tower," Legolas ordered, "As soon as they're inside, bar the door and lock it at once!"

Captain Orcin nodded and raced out the room and down the stairs of the tower, the tin cup of miruvor lying on the floor, its precious contents spilling along the worn flagstones. Legolas took one last look out the window and saw over a dozen spiders spilling out of the twisted trees at the edge of the dell, crawling over the body of the sentry and scurrying towards the tower with all haste. Pulling away from the window, the Prince of Mirkwood seized the wooden shutters and slammed them closed, pulling the locking bar down on them and sealing the portico.

Satisfied that at least one entrance to the tower was closed to the fell beasts, Legolas darted into the corridor and raced up the stone stairs to the summit of the tower, his hand closing on the hilts of his twin blades. Sprinting up the final flight of stairs, the Prince emerged on the parapet to find the four archers on the summit standing near the Southern edge, loosing their steel-tipped arrows at the spiders that were now swarming towards the base of the tower.

A trio of arrows flew from the bows of the Elven archers and struck one of the great spiders in two limbs and the face.

"Aim for the eyes," Legolas shouted, for he had faced the spiders of Mirkwood before and knew their weaknesses well.

The soldiers obeyed and unleashed a fresh hail of arrows at the spiders that had now reached the base of the tower and were beginning to climb up the sheer stone walls. Legolas reached back and unfastened his own longbow from the harness on his back and readied the weapon, nocking a slender steel-tipped arrow. Taking aim with practiced fingers, he drew back the string and let the deadly missile fly. Legolas's archery skills were unparalleled in Mirkwood and his arrow struck its mark dead on, burying itself in the glassy eye of one of the approaching spiders.

The fell creature screeched in pain and thrashed on the forest floor, its eight hairy limbs thrashing about in agony. But even as Legolas and his soldiers' unleashed volley after volley on the spiders, another sound rang through the clearing. The sharp cry of an Elvish horn carried through the battle in the dell, not the short, sharp call of alarm, but the long twin bleats that signified more approaching enemies. Turning away from the lip of the tower, Legolas rushed to the East edge of the observation platform and stared down at the base of the tower.

Twenty meters below, a vicious battle was taking place on the forest floor as two score of dark figures were fighting against the Elven sentries, having slain several of them already. Captain Orcin was among the survivors and was fighting with a great ferocity, his shining steel blades slicing into the foul flesh of their foes. As the captain parried an attack and stabbed his assailant deep in the stomach, the creature cried out in pain and suddenly Legolas knew what the attackers were.

Though the shadows of the night hid their forms from his Elvish eyes, Legolas knew the cry of Orcs all too well. Nocking another arrow, he took swift aim and fired, striking one of the attacking Orcs straight between the eyes. With a scream that could be heard even from twenty meters up, the Orc keeled over, collapsing on the forest floor. The Orc's companions roared in fury and intensified their attack, hacking slashing with fury, their jagged blades shrouded in the pitch-black curtain of night.

The Elves on the ground showed no sign of fear, meeting their enemies head-on, their silver vanes gleaming with cold silver light, a beacon in the darkness that filled the clearing. Nocking another arrow, Legolas targeted the torso of another Orc and fired, the shaft clearing the distance in seconds and striking the Orc's upper torso. The creature shrieked in pain and toppled over, its pale hands clutching its chest.

As he reached for another arrow, Legolas turned to the youngest of the four guards that were holding off the spider advance from the South.

"Haiven, run to the ground and seal the doors," he shouted over the din in the clearing.

The young Elf he addressed had short blonde hair and small grey eyes that had not yet lost their innocence. At his Prince's command, he lowered his longbow and dashed down the stairs into the depths of the tower.

"Orcin!" Legolas shouted from the rooftop, pitching his voice to carry over the din of battle.

"Fall back to the tower!" he ordered.

The dark-haired captain's hazel eyes flashed in acknowledgement and he shouted to his few remaining warriors to retreat. Even as the Elves on the ground were retreating towards the threshold of the tower the Orcs advanced, baying and hissing, their yellowing teeth bared and their crude blades slashing.

Fitting another arrow to his bow, Legolas unleashed a swift flurry of shots at the advancing Orcs, spending the remaining missiles in his quiver in rapid succession, injuring and killing Orc after Orc, covering the retreat of his soldiers with great success. The Elven prince watched Orcin and the two other survivors escape into the stony sanctuary of the tower and heard the hastily repaired door of the keep slam shut with a resounding thud and the cool metallic clicks of the locks.

A moment later another sound rang through the clearing, the guards on the southern edge of the parapet cried out in shock and Legolas spun to see a pair of spiders climbing over the turret wall, spitting poison at the two guards that remained on their feet. The third was already on the cracked stone floor, clutching at his eyes in agony, his entire face covered in the black oily venom of the spiders.

Cursing in Sindarin, the Prince of Mirkwood reached back for an arrow, raising his longbow to guard and felt a tremor of astonishment when he felt nothing but air in his quiver. Spitting out another curse, Legolas tossed his useless bow aside and drew his twin knives from their gilded casings and leapt into the fray.

Leaping towards the larger of the two spiders, Legolas slashed at the creature's closest legs, severing two of its eight legs in a flash. The spider keened in anguish and spat a fresh gob of venom at the Elf-Prince. Twisting his lithe body to the side, Legolas narrowly avoided the stream of poisonous fluid and darted in close to the spider's great hairy body, too close for the beast to spit its deadly secretions at him. The arachnid screeched in pained fury and tried to bat at Legolas with its closest leg. Spinning his knives in his deft hands, Legolas severed the offending limb with one shining blade and with a swift thrust, he plunged the second razor-sharp knife through the spider's hairy forehead and right into its brain.

The dark abomination gave a low chitter of pain and then it went limp, its five remaining limbs going slack in death. Spinning on one foot, Legolas delivered a solid kick to the dead arachnid's torso and sent flying off the tower to join its dead comrades on the forest floor. Turning to the two remaining guards, Legolas saw that they had killed the other spider and were now tending to their fallen companion.

"Kielen, take Brene to the healer's chamber on the third floor," Legolas ordered, and as the Elf moved to comply, a loud skittering filled the air. Darting back to the wall, Legolas looked down to see a dozen more spiders crawling up the wall, their sharp black pincers snapping hungrily. Gritting his teeth in frustration, the Prince of Mirkwood looked at the last guard standing on the tower.

"Retreat, Gerin!" he said with reluctance, "We cannot stand against their numbers."

The lone guard nodded and Legolas gestured for him to descend the stairs. As he did, Legolas snatched up his discarded bow and followed the soldier into the stairway, slamming the door shut behind him, throwing down both the locking bolts. Hoping that the sturdy barrier would impede the spider's progress into the tower, the Prince of Mirkwood descended to the third floor swiftly, Gerin right behind him.

Kielen had already laid Brene out on one of the two sickbeds in the tower's small infirmary. The young Elf was writhing on the wooden bedframe, deep in the throes of venom shock. Legolas looked upon his comrade's prone form with sympathy. He had been a victim of the spider venom nearly two centuries ago and he remembered well the excruciating pain that the poison inflicted.

"Gerin, check the healer's cupboard for any anti-venin," Legolas ordered, hoping that the garrison hadn't used up all their healing salves and medicines in the first attack. Stepping closer, he crouched over Brene's thrashing form, surveying the injured soldier's condition. Brene's smooth handsome face was contorted in agony and although Kielen had wiped the venom from his friend's face with a cool wet cloth, the caustic fluid had left acid scars on the young Elf's face.

A resounding crash from the lower levels of the keep drew Legolas's attention and he stepped away from the wounded soldier.

"Tend to our friend," Legolas instructed Kielen. Turning to Gerin who had been unable to find any salve in the medicine cupboard, Legolas spoke sharply, "Gerin, with me."

The Elven-Prince and his comrade descended the rest of the stairs to the first floor swiftly. Stepping onto the stone floor, Legolas came to the main foyer and saw Captain Orcin and his two soldiers along with Haiven stacking whatever furniture they could find against the heavy main door of the tower. Upon sighting his Prince, Orcin stepped away from the door and saluted, "My Lord, the Orcs are assaulting the door as we speak."

Legolas nodded and surveyed the two soldiers who were barring the door with more objects, Gerin moving to assist them.

"Is this all that remains of our force?" Legolas asked.

Orcin nodded grimly, "We were sorely outnumbered, my Lord. We lost a dozen soldiers against the Orcs, and even though we managed to slay at least twice that number, there are still a full score out there. The captain was nursing a gash on his cheek and there was a hastily-bound wound on his upper left thigh.

Legolas shook his head, "You did all that you could, Captain."

He studied the heavily barred door with his keen blue eyes, assessing the strength of the barrier.

"I had hoped to hold the tower until reinforcements came, but now I see that I foolishly underestimated the strength of our Enemy."

Orcin stepped closer to Legolas and grasped the Prince's arm in a gesture of affection, "Do not give up, _mellon_."

The Captain's strong arm squeezed Legolas's bicep in a reassuring gesture, "We have barred the door beyond the efforts of these feeble Orcs. There are many arrows left in the armoury and we have several skilled bowmen left. We _can_ hold this fortress."

Legolas gave his friend a smile and nodded, "We will have to try," he conceded, "Brene was poisoned by one of the spiders and is in a perilous state."

Concern crept into Orcin's eyes, both he and Legolas had fought beside the raven-haired Brene before and they knew him to be a doughty warrior and a particularly skilled archer.

"Have we no healing poultices or salves in the infirmary?" Orcin asked.

Legolas shook his head, "The stores must have been depleted in the first spider assault."

The Prince abruptly straightened, "But Brene is in good hands with Kielen, we must focus on our defences."

He turned to the soldiers barring the door, "Gerin, come with me. The rest of you, stay here and keep this door secure."

Gerin came away from the door and Legolas gave Orcin a grim look, "Gerin and I will try to thin the enemy from the crenellations on the fourth floor. Hold the door fast and we will slay the enemy swiftly."

Orcin pressed his hand against his chest in salute and bowed. Legolas returned the Captain's gesture and then he turned away from his soldiers, racing up the stairs, Gerin following closely behind him.

The two Elves made it to the narrow windows on the fourth floor that faced out of the four walls of the tower. Having stopped by the armoury on their way up, both warriors bore a fresh quiver of arrows on their backs and held several more in their hands. Setting their spare arrows, Legolas and Gerin hurried to the three thin slits that had been carved in the North Wall of the tower. Each of them took a position at one of the crenellations and Legolas peered out through the crack at the dark figures that were gathered before the heavy door of the tower.

The still air in the dell suddenly began to stir and a cool breeze wafted in from the West. Catching the black clouds that hung over the besieged tower, the westerly winds nudged them towards the North and as they floated away, the clean white light of the Moon shine down on the clearing, illuminating the entire dene in pearly, clear moonlight.

For the first time since the battle had begun, Legolas could see the attackers clearly. Clad in tattered leathers and crude iron armour, the attackers were all Orcs. Most were pale-skinned with sharp yellow teeth and squinty dark eyes. They clutched inelegant yet sharp blades and several of them were pounding heavy clubs against the sealed door, trying in vain to penetrate the barrier so they could slay their few remaining foes.

Narrowing his eyes in the sight of his hated enemies, Legolas quickly nocked an arrow and took careful aim before letting it fly. The arrow flew swift and true and struck one of the baying Orcs in it's throbbing throat. The foul creature gurgling and screamed at the fatal wound and fell to the forest floor, it's body twitching furiously in its death throes. The Orcs screeched shock as one and they glanced up, their beady eyes blinking furiously in the unwelcome moonlight, trying to spot the source of the attack. Readying another arrow, Legolas fired again, this time striking a blinking Orc right in the eyeball and dropping it to the forest floor to join over a score of it's deceased companions with an unceremonious thud.

Gerin had taken up his bow as well, and the two archers unleashed a furious hail of arrows, striking down Orc after Orc in rapid succession. The pale-skinned abominations roared in shock and quickly scattered, taking cover to avoid the deadly arrows of the Elves. Legolas and Gerin continued their onslaught, aiming their bows at near-impossible angles to skewer Orc after Orc with lethal shots.

The surviving Orcs drew deeper into the surrounding forest until even the supernaturally keen eyes of the Elves could not spot them amongst the dark, twisted trees. Legolas grinned at the sight of the Orc-free clearing and his heart filled with triumph at having finally driven off the enemy.

"Victory!" he shouted his handsome face alight with joy, "Well done, _mellon-nin_!"

Gerin turned towards the Prince and smiled back, his bow dipping low towards the floor, "Thank you, my Lord," he replied, "The sacrifice of our comrades will be…"

He never finished his sentence as a great black foreleg thrust though the narrow window behind Gerin and struck him in the head with great force, driving him to the ground with a vicious crunch. The stone wall shook against the force of the spider trying to force its way through the narrow opening.

Legolas stood frozen for a single moment, shocked that the mindless beast had managed to crawl along the side of the tower and had possessed the cunning to enter through the slender gap. The creature withdrew its leg and Legolas snapped out of his reverie, nocking an arrow with blinding speed and when the spider pushed its snarling head through the window, Legolas loosed an arrow at point-blank range, sending the razor-sharp bolt straight into the arachnid's skull.

The spider keened and wailed, its inky black eyes going dull and lifeless. A moment later the dying creature lost its grip on the tower wall and plummeted to the forest floor with a soft thud. Even as the spider was falling away, Legolas was crouching on the ground next to his fallen comrade. The spider's blow had been powerful enough to knock Gerin to the ground and had drawn blood. Legolas swiftly swept his arm beneath his comrade's head and elevated it gently.

"My-my Lord," Gerin managed to gasp.

"Save your strength, _mellon_ ," Legolas said softly, his eyes studying the warrior's wound carefully.

"I-I feel…" Gerin mumbled and his pale green eyes began to flutter closed.

"No!" Legolas shouted, "Hold on my friend!"

Gerin let out a single pained breath and then all light left the Elf's emerald eyes.

Legolas just stared at the motionless body of his friend, his mouth going dry with grief and shock. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried to gather his strength, fighting to keep his grief from overpowering him. Gathering his inner calm, Legolas opened his eyes and looked upon the lifeless form of his friend. Whispering a prayer to Mandos for his friend's _fea_ , Legolas closed Gerin's blank eyes and lay his comrade down on the stone floor gently.

He was about to leave the viewing gallery to update Captain Orcin when the sharp sound of a horn reached his ears. It was not the smooth melodic call of an Elf instrument however, but a loud and brutal cry. Spinning on his heel, he returned to the window and for the second time that evening was frozen in shock.

Standing at the mouth of the clearing was a great black Orc. Standing a full six feet tall, the creature had the clean-limbed body of a man with the yellow-eyed face of an Orc. A long, flat-bladed sword was clutched in his right hand and in his left was a crudely fashioned horn, made of bone and decorated with the teeth of man and beast alike. The great Orc raised the horn his blood-red lips and blew another mighty blast on it. Man-shaped figures began to shuffle out of the forest and before Legolas could blink, dozens of Orcs were swarming back into the clearing once more. Those who had fled from the Elvish arrows had returned to battle, reinvigorated by the call of their apparent commander.

The Orc commander stepped into the clearing as the lesser Orcs began teeming around the tower again. Determined to avenge his fallen comrades, Legolas seized his bow with renewed vigour and sent an arrow flying towards one of the baying Orcs, felling it immediately. The remaining Orcs bellowed in shock and confusion, but their black-skinned leader pulled a mighty compound bow off his back and swiftly fitted a black-feathered arrow into it and sent it flying straight towards Legolas's position. The Elven-Prince raised an eyebrow at the incredulous shot, doubting the Orc leader's ability to send the arrow through the slim gap in the wall.

The black arrow shot straight towards the crenellation and to Legolas's dismay, shot right through the gap and towards his skull. The Prince's amazing reflexes kicked in and he threw himself to the side, the deadly dart missing him by mere millimetres and embedding itself in the far wall.

Picking himself up off the stone floor, Legolas returned to his feet, standing well away from the narrow window. Thanking the Valar for his narrow escape, the Elf-Prince felt a sting of pain on his face and his hand reached up to brush the right side of his cheek only to come away bloodied. His eyes widened in surprise at the realization that the Orc had actually managed to wound him.

Legolas wiped his bloody hand on the nearest stone wall and peered down at the clearing from a safe angle. The Orcs were clustered around the doorway and their massive leader was standing behind them, barking orders in a language that Legolas recognized from his childhood lessons as the Black Speech of Mordor. His Elf eyes suddenly spied more movement from the edge of the clearing and a half-dozen Orcs entered the dell.

The newcomers were tall and powerfully built, clad in burnished dark armor and iron helms. Bearing a great resemblance to the Black Commander, the fierce-looking brutes bore upon their shoulders a great black slab of obsidian. The massive block of obsidian stone was carved with many intricate designs and the front end resembled the head of a great serpent, with piercing eyes and sharp teeth.

The commander bellowed an order and the smaller Orcs backed away from the great door of the tower and the six Black Orcs charged the wooden door with a great roar of rage. The barrier buckled on its metal hinges, the wooden surface splintering under the ferocious assault.

Not needing to see any more, Legolas threw himself from the room with great haste, rushing into the stairwell.

"Orcin!" he shouted in panic, "They're about to break in!" He dashed down the fourth floor stairs and landed on the third floor, racing for the next set, "Pull your warriors back before-!"

A great crack echoed throughout the tower followed by a mighty thud and the vicious snarls of Orcs. Legolas leapt down the next flight of stairs, intent on making it to the entrance hall and helping his soldiers to drive off the enemy. The sounds of Orc scimitars cleaving Elven flesh filled his ears and shouts of pain and death echoed up into the tower and Legolas knew that the last of his comrades was dead.

Fury and sorrow battled within him and for a long moment he was tempted to race down the stairs and avenge all of his fallen troops, to slay every last Orc in the tower. Reason fought off his rage and he calmed, knowing that he would never be able to prevail against the sheer number of enemies that he was facing. Not even his father, King Thranduil who was renowned as the greatest warrior in Mirkwood would be able to achieve victory over the sheer number of foes arrayed against him.

Duty crept to the forefront of the Prince's mind and he knew that the only service he could render to his kingdom and his people now would be to flee and bring word of the Necromancer's assault to his father, so that an army of Wood-Elves could be mustered to send the foul servants of the Necromancer fleeing back to Dol Guldur.

With that in mind, Legolas prepared to race towards a window, intending to climb down the vine-strangled walls and escape from the besieged fortress unseen. Even as he was dashing towards the nearest window, he heard a low cry of pain emanate from the upper levels of the tower and he suddenly remembered Kielen who was still trying to tend to poor Brene.

Abandoning his escape attempt, Legolas ran back up the rugged stone stairs, taking them two at a time until he arrived on the fourth floor. Bursting into the infirmary, Legolas seized Kielen quickly, pulling the young Elf to his feet.

"Ready Brene for travel, Kielen," the Prince shouted, "The Orcs have broken into the tower and we must flee for our lives!"

Kielen stared up at his Prince in shock, "My Lord Legolas, Brene is no condition to travel."

The fallen warrior groaned from his sickbed, beads of sweat running down the Elf's brow, his pallor a sickly pale colour.

Appraising the poisoned soldier with practiced eyes, Legolas looked closely and he knew that his comrade would not last the night, whether they took him with them or not. Steeling himself for the difficult choice that lay ahead, Legolas looked Kielen directly in the eye.

"Gather your weapons and go to the window," he commanded, "We must leave now or join our friends in the Hall of Mandos."

Kielen's innocent green eyes filled with confusion, "But…Brene," he stammered, "What will you do?"

Legolas's hand closed on the hilt of one of his silver knives, "What I have to," he said in a steely tone.

When Kielen looked horrified, Legolas felt the need to offer an explanation.

"These Orcs serve the Necromancer of Dol Guldur, and for any living being to fall into his foul clutches is a fate far worse than death."

Kielen still did not look convinced, but Legolas could hear heavy footfalls on the granite stairway and knew that they were out of time.

"Go to the window and start climbing down," Legolas commanded, "Once you hit the ground, run into the forest and head for the halls of the King. I will be right behind you."

Kielen hesitated, his eyes darting to Brene, compassion shining in his bright green orbs.

"Obey your Prince!" Legolas shouted, and Kielen complied, snatching up his bow and running towards the window. As the younger Elf was climbing over the windowsill, Legolas looked down on the dying Elf.

"Forgive me, Brene," Legolas said quietly. Brene moaned in pain and twitched on the sickbed, clearly in agony.

Reaching out with one hand to grasp Brene's spasming hand, Legolas gripped his comrades hand tightly in a comforting gesture and with his other hand, he withdrew one of his shining silver daggers. Holding it over his friend, Legolas whispered a prayer to Mandos and then brought the blade down on Brene's dying from, slitting his throat cleanly with a single stroke.

A gout of crimson blood spurted from the Elf's carotid and Legolas squeezed the dying Elf's hand one last time before releasing it and sheathing his knife. Brene gave a final jerk and then lay still, blood pouring from his wound and light fading from his eyes. Legolas felt sick at the mercy stroke he had been forced to deliver but he had no time to dwell on his nausea. The footsteps grew closer and with a great leap Legolas reached the window and nimbly climbed out of it, grabbing the thorny vines on the exterior of the tower. Using the vines as supports, the Prince of Mirkwood descended to the forest floor swiftly. Above him, he heard the shouts of surprise from the Orcs, but he ignored them and covered the last few meters to the forest floor with ease.

Landing on his feet, Legolas crouched low and crept into the underbrush quickly, his keen eye spotting Kielen waiting in the cover of the trees. Stepping lightly across the clearing, Legolas made it into the safety of the forest without incident. Turning to take one last look at the Tower of Serien, Legolas saw a half-dozen spiders crawling over the summit of the fortress and heard the victorious cries of Orcs filling the night. Gritting his teeth in anger, the Elven-Prince turned away and hurried into the forest, making for the safety of the King's Halls as the Tower of Serien was captured for the second time.


	2. The Insolence of Gandalf the Grey

**The Insolence of Gandalf the Grey**

The Sun was rising high into the clear blue expanse of the sky and its warm rays rained down on the great fields of Ninglor. The vast stretch of flat grasslands ran for leagues around, with the swift bubbling waters of the Old Ford lying behind it and the mighty trees of Mirkwood looming before it.

The plain was desolate save for a single figure, who was trudging along the beaten earth path that led between the grasses towards the forest in the distance. To mortal eyes the figure appeared to be an old Man, with a weary face, lined with age and care. A thick grey beard ran down to his chest, matching the grey-white hair that flowed down to his shoulders. The old man was clad in well-worn robes of ash-grey with a silvery blue scarf draped over his shoulder. A peaked hat of the same colour as his robes crowned the old man's head and in his gnarled right hand he clutched a long staff made of dark knotted wood, intricate designs running along its wooden length, terminating in a snow-white crystal embedded in the head of the staff.

The aged Man continued forge ahead, leaning occasionally on his staff for strength. The sun had fallen from its high zenith by the time he reached the edge of the forest. At the brink, the greybeard paused for a moment to survey the great trees before him. The green grasses and white flowers of the Field of Ninglor fell away to the towering trees of Mirkwood. The earthen path that he had followed to the forest continued on into the forest itself, becoming a paved stone road that wound between the great eves of the trees.

Taking a deep breath, the old man forged ahead, stepping over the edge of the earthen path and onto the smooth paved stone of the Old Forest Road. The light of the Sun was muted beneath the great eves of the woods, but enough of the light shone through the bright green leaves and vines to fill the underbrush with a warm light that guided travellers along the smooth pathway. As the greybeard strode past the trees the songs of the birds and soft cries of deer and other woodland creatures played through the forest.

At length, the old man made his way through several twists and turns and came to a wide clearing where the path widened and the trees grew less numerous. Lying before him was a tall forbidding gate that rose to the tops of the trees. The posts of the gate were made smooth carved wood, with detailed inscriptions carved into the surface. Spanning the entire clearing, the gate itself was a single great slab of wood inlaid with elegantly twisted steel that wound itself in many mesmerizing designs.

A walkway ran along the top of the gate and over a dozen slim figures stood watch there, clad in cool silver armour that glimmered in the late afternoon sunlight.

"Halt!" cried one of the figures, a tall broad-shouldered male clad in shining silver armour with the smooth features of an Elf.

The old man came to a stop directly in front of the great gate and looked up at the Elf who had uttered the command. The Captain of the Gate turned to one of the other sentinels on the walkway and uttered a quick command in the Sindarin tongue.

The Captain himself disappeared from the top of the gate and a moment later a hidden door opened in the wall of the gate and a half-dozen Woodland Elves flowed out into the clearing and surrounded the old man swiftly. They all carried smoothly carved longbows and though none had nocked an arrow, their quivers were full of gleaming shafts that could be drawn on a moment's notice. The silver-armored Captain was with them, his hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

"What brings a mortal such as yourself to the Woodland Realm?" The Captain asked the old man in a haughty tone.

The old man frowned at the arrogance of his interlocutor and tightened his grip on his knotted staff.

"I wish to speak with your King," the greybeard said in a deep gravelly voice, "On matters of utmost importance."

The arrogant Elf raised an eyebrow at the old man's response, "What would a mere mortal such as yourself have to say to His Majesty?"

The aged traveler's brow furrowed at this comment and he muttered into his beard about the forgetfulness of Elves.

The Captain's eyes narrowed, "What do you whisper under your breath, old man?"

When the traveler said nothing, the Elf's blue eyes grew furious, "Very well, we'll see if a few days in the royal dungeons will teach you some respect!" He gestured for his subordinates to seize the foreigner and they moved to comply when suddenly a high clear voice rang out through the dell.

"Stop!" the voice cried out, and the Elves immediately halted. Standing high above them on the summit of the gate was an older Elf, whose eyes shone with a deeper wisdom.

The commanding Elf looked down the soldiers on the ground, "Release this Man at once, Captain Hausein."

Hausein immediately stepped away from the old man and the other Elves did the same. On the high wall, the older Elf nodded in satisfaction and then turned and vanished from the top of the gate. A moment later the hidden door opened seamlessly and the wise Elf stepped into the clearing.

The Elven Elder stepped through the newly opened gap and strode towards the party of seven, a wide smile on his face.

"Mae govannen, Mithrandir," he called to the grey traveler in welcome.

A smile blossomed on Mithrandir's weary face and he strode towards the elder and clasped his shoulders in welcome.

"Well met, Gerion" he said with a laugh, "It has been several centuries since I last walked under these eves."

"Indeed," said Gerion with a chuckle, "You have clearly been away for far too long if our guards mistook you for a vagabond."

The Elven Captain standing nearby frowned and subtly dismissed his troops before stepping closer to Mithrandir and Gerion.

"Begging your pardon Lord Gerion," Hausein said in a still-haughty tone, "But who is this old man that would warrant such a welcome from you?"

Mithrandir chuckled to himself and Gerion stepped around him to face Hausein.

"This is no dotard, Captain," Gerion said in a forceful tone, "Mithrandir is a being of great knowledge and wisdom. He has traveled the lands of Middle-Earth for many centuries, offering guidance and aid to those in need."

Hausein remained skeptical in the face of this proclamation and focused his sharp gaze on Mithrandir's aged frame.

"If these claims are true, why have I never heard anything of you before today?"

Mithrandir's smile faded and he returned Hausein's gaze with his own deep blue eyes that seemed to contain hidden depths.

"It has been long since I last crossed the borders of Mirkwood," Mithrandir said, and then he gave the Elven Commander a mischievous grin, "Perhaps you have heard of me by my more common name. I am known far and wide in the lands of Men as Gandalf the Grey."

A glimmer of recognition shone in Hausein's eyes and he took a thoughtful tone, "I have heard tales from the traders of Esgaroth of an old wizard that calls himself Gandalf. But I dismissed those rumours as the wild exaggerations of Men."

His eyes bored deep into Gandalf's and he nodded after a moment, "I see now that you are in fact more than you seem, Gandalf." He turned his gaze to Gerion, "As the Captain of the Gate, I grant you entrance into the lands of the Woodland Realm, Gandalf the Grey."

Gandalf smiled at Hausein, "My thanks, noble captain."

Gerion gestured towards the open gate, "Come Mithrandir, I shall escort you to the Halls of the King."

Gandalf nodded and strode towards the opening, Gerion following closely behind him. The Elf and the Wizard passed through the boundary and entered the lands of the Wood-Elves. The smooth stone path led as far as the eye could see, a wide road that was bracketed on both sides by towering trees that boasted thick branches and healthy green leaves. As Gandalf and Gerion traversed the Elven Road, the Wizard's eyes were drawn to the many birds flying through the air and he breathed deeply, filling his aged lungs with the cool clean air that was always present within the Elvish woods.

"Your lands seem to be thriving," Gandalf remarked to Gerion as they passed a number of fine houses and farms that were surrounded by clear pools of water and bountiful fruit-trees.

Gerion looked at the settlements fondly, his wise grey eyes sweeping over the young Elflings playing by the ponds and the adult Elves plucking luscious red apples and sea-green pears from the stalwart trees.

"Yes," Gerion said, "Our fortunes have been mostly fair in the six centuries since you last visited our lands."

"The shadow of Dol Guldur must not weigh on your lands at all," Gandalf said innocently.

Gerion stiffened for a moment but said nothing, continuing to walk at a brisk pace.

Gandalf kept up with him, suddenly full of vigour and strength and he gazed at Gerion with piercing blue eyes.

"That is strange indeed, for ill tidings of the growing reach of the Necromancer have reached my ears in recent years."

Gerion increased his pace and kept his gaze affixed unwaveringly forward, refusing to meet Gandalf's penetrating stare.

"I must ask King Thranduil how he has managed to keep the Shadow from encroaching on his borders," Gandalf said, almost to himself.

Gerion halted his march abruptly and turned to face the Grey Wizard.

"The Darkness in the Forest does not touch our borders because we do not venture into the South anymore." Gerion hissed, a look of concern crossing his aged features.

Gandalf's eyes narrowed in suspicion, "Then what has become of the Southern settlements?"

Gerion ripped his gaze away from Gandalf and stared at a nearby oak tree that had stood for a thousand years, its branches bearing over a dozen blue-feathered avians.

"The Southern marches were emptied of citizens three centuries ago" Gerion admitted reluctantly. A look of understanding came to Gandalf's eyes and Gerion continued to study the great tree wistfully.

"We maintain a watchtower in the Southern eves to keep a cautious eye on the Necromancer's abode."

Gandalf muttered something unintelligible under his breath and Gerion stepped closer to the oak and stroked its supple branches gently.

"No Elf in this kingdom is to approach Dol Guldur" Gerion said quietly, "To do so is to disobey a royal edict and risk banishment."

When Gandalf made to reply, Gerion cut him off sharply.

"That is the law, Mithrandir. We are all bound to obey the King, regardless of whether we agree with him or not."

He smoothed a new bud on one of the thicker branches and turned away, "If you wish to change the King's mind, you must do it yourself." With that, Gerion resumed his pace, leaving Gandalf with no choice but to follow, his mind running through the new facts that just been revealed to him.

They continued their walk in silence, passing lush orchards and elegant houses, clear natural pools and wide stretches of farms for a good hour before the smaller settlements fell away and the main road opened up on a grand mansion that stood in the heart of a great clearing.

The great house was an outstanding construction of carved wood, smooth stone and shining glass. Standing seven stories tall, Thranduil's palace was built at the rear of the wide dene. Before it lay a clear blue lake that was fed from a bubbling river running into the dell from the mountains of Mirkwood that lay beyond the mansion. A number of smaller buildings were scattered around the King's Hall including a large stable that housed dozens of fine Elven steeds, a well-built barracks where a full garrison of Elven soldiers dwelt and a modest smithy that was sending up a twisting column of black smoke. Dozens of Elves were bustling about the clearing, tending to horses, gathering fish, picking fruit and, carrying supplies and goods to the palace.

Gandalf took in the sights without comment; the estate looked much as it had upon his last visit. As he and Gerion walked past the shimmering blue waters of the lake, several of the fishing Elves glanced up at the Grey Wizard and muttered to each other. Gandalf turned his gaze away from them and continued on his course, coming to the great doors of the palace.

Carved from the implacable trunk of a great redwood, the doors were framed in the finest steel that the King's smiths could fashion. Flowing designs ran along the solid red wood that seemed to shimmer in the dull orange light of the afternoon sun.

The great doors stood open for the Elves to carry out the daily business of the King, but a company of six guards stood beside the door, three to each side. The sentinels were clad in gleaming silver armour than was embossed with the pale blue swirls of the Woodland Elite Guard. Gandalf paused at the threshold of the palace, the actions of Captain Hausein fresh in his mind.

But Gerion nodded at the guards and they did not bar his passage, satisfied that Gandalf was a welcome guest in the lands of the Elves. The two passed into the Entrance Hall that was a great vaulted chamber with two spiral staircases that led from the wide foyer up to the second level of the manse. Radiant sunlight shone down into the chamber through a broad skylight mounted in the ceiling. The floor of the hall was made of a pristine marble that seemed to remain spotless no matter how many people stepped on it.

Additional guards stood at the foot of both staircases and as Gandalf ascended the marble stairs, he noticed even more sentinels stationed at platforms on the second floor, keeping an eye on all who entered the palace. The Grey Wizard raised an eyebrow at the numerous armed Elves keeping watch, but said nothing. The Wizard and the Elf rose through the palace swiftly, passing the kitchens and dining halls on the third floor, the Royal Armoury on the fourth floor and came to the doors of the audience chamber of the King on the fifth floor.

Unlike the doors below, the doors to the throne room were sealed shut with another company of silver-helmed guards standing watch. Gandalf moved to announce himself but Gerion raised a flat hand to forestall him. Stepping towards one of the guards that bore a command insignia, Gerion whispered a low command in Sindarin that Gandalf could barely hear. A moment later, the doors opened without any action from the guards, the silver signs on the doors glimmering oddly.

Gerion strode forward and Gandalf followed him into the chamber. The throne room was exactly as Gandalf remembered it, a long, wide chamber that had beautiful stained glass window on both sides. A rich green carpet led straight into the room, coming up to a raised dais and terminating at an intricately carved throne of pale beechwood. Dazzling gems were inlaid in the throne, brilliant emeralds shone on the armrests and a series of small diamonds shone with mesmerizing light on the backrest of the chair.

Upon the throne sat a tall Elf with flowing blonde hair and flawless alabaster skin. The Elf was dressed in rich forest-green robes that seemed to shimmer with an inner light. An elegant crown of pure silver embroidered with pale green emeralds rested on the Elven-King's head and he gazed at his visitors with pale sky-blue eyes.

Gandalf and Gerion approached the King and the Elf-Lord immediately bowed deeply, inclining his head in obeisance and respect.

"My greetings, Your Highness," Gerion said, returning to an upright posture, "I have brought Gandalf the Grey to the Royal Palace, as commanded." He gestured to Gandalf who had not bowed to the King.

The ruler's gaze fixed coolly on Gandalf and the Grey Wizard bowed reluctantly, his mind pondering the means by which Thranduil had foreseen his arrival, "Greetings, King Thranduil."

Thranduil's thin lips turned up in a sardonic smile, "Welcome, Mithrandir," he drawled, "What brings the Grey Wanderer to my halls?"

Gandalf frowned beneath his bushy beard and stood taller, "I have come to speak with you about urgent matters, My Lord," he said gruffly, "There is a great threat facing your kingdom."

Thranduil's lower lip curled in a knowing smirk, "Ah yes, ill tidings of woe, no doubt." The Elven-King leaned back on his throne, his amused smirk twisting his calm Elven features.

"It is true what the Northmen say," Thranduil commented, turning a conspiratorial glance to Gerion, "Gandalf the Grey is ever a bringer of woe and troubles." He turned his cold eyes back to Gandalf, "What embellished danger would you warn me of today, Gandalf Stormcrow?"

Gandalf's lips twisted beneath his beard and he struggled to keep a firm grip on his temper.

"The evil in Dol Guldur is growing stronger," he said in a serious tone, "The Necromancer grows ever bolder and is beginning to assault other lands. I have come to warn you of this and to urge you to rally your forces and drive this foul sorcerer away from your great forest."

Thranduil's expression grew sombre and he drew himself up on his throne with a regal dignity.

"The Necromancer's power is confined to the southern part of the forest where he has long dwelt," Thranduil replied, his voice grave, "Our lands are far removed from his vile grip and have remained safe from the shadow for many centuries."

Gandalf blew out his breath in exasperation, "Your lands are not the only ones at risk," he exclaimed in a raised voice, "The realm of Gondor is under assault by thousands of Orcs, many of which have been determined to have come from Dol Guldur itself!"

He gripped his staff in his right hand and began to pace back and forth, "The Nazgul have captured the city of Minas Ithil and are waging a fierce war on Gondor's former capital city of Osgiliath."

"How is this any of our concern?" Thranduil asked sharply, cutting off Gandalf's impassioned speech curtly, "What becomes of the kingdoms of Men is of little consequence to me."

Gandalf's eyes narrowed at Thranduil's dismissive comments and he muttered something indistinct into his beard. Then he raised his irascible gaze to the Elven-King again, "It matters because I suspect that the Nine inhabiting Minas Ithil are under the command of the Necromancer."

Thranduil froze for a moment on his throne and his expression grew ashen.

Gandalf forged ahead while he had the Elven-King's attention, "I believe that the Necromancer of Dol Guldur is really the Enemy in disguise!"

For a long moment the throne room was utterly silent, shock appearing on the face of Gerion and the two armored guards that stood either side of Thranduil's throne. Then Thranduil rose from his throne, a stony look on his pale face.

"The Enemy was defeated, Mithrandir," the Elven-King said in an icy tone, "On the plains of Gorgoroth, nearly two thousand years ago."

Gandalf frowned, "You know as well as I do…"

"I was there!" Thranduil shouted, his voice echoing through the great chamber. The Elven-King was on his feet, his cold blue eyes gazing at Gandalf with restrained fury, "I fought in that final battle, Mithrandir. I lost my father in the war against the Enemy and I was there the day that Sauron the Abhorred was struck down by Elendil the Tall and the High King Gil-galad and driven from the Circles of the World."

The King of Mirkwood lowered himself back onto his throne, calm returning to his smooth features.

"The Dark Lord was destroyed and can never return," he said, speaking more to the guards and Gerion than to Gandalf. "The Necromancer is a mere enchanter and these lies are nothing more than the delusional ramblings of a foolish old dotard."

Gandalf's eyes widened at the insult and he stepped forward in outrage, "Do not mock me!" he shouted, his voice resounding with a undertone of power. The guards and Gerion flinched and a ghost of alarm crossed Thranduil's face.

"Heed my words, Thranduil son of Oropher," Gandalf said, his staff planted firmly on the marble floor. The old man's frame seemed to blaze with a great inner light and he suddenly seemed to all a great figure that filled the room.

"You know that the Enemy was defeated but not destroyed," Gandalf said in a great voice, "He lost that which was his greatest weapon, but that One was not destroyed and as long as it remains in the Circles of the World, the Enemy shall endure and continue to exist."

The guards and Gerion stepped backwards in awe while Thranduil rose to his feet with royal dignity, a new respect shining in his eyes.

The aura of power faded from Gandalf's figure as quickly as it had appeared and then he was as he appeared once again, an old man leaning on his staff in weariness.

There was a silence of several minutes before Thranduil returned to his throne with a thoughtful expression on his face, "Perhaps there is some truth to what you speak, Mithrandir, the Elven-King allowed, "But you must be weary from your long journey."

He turned to Gerion, "Show Mithrandir to one of the guest chambers so that he may rest."

He looked back at Gandalf, "The evening meal shall be in two hours, Mithrandir. I would ask you to sup with me then and we shall discuss this matter in greater depth."

Gandalf nodded in affirmation and let Gerion guide him out of the chamber without further discussion.

The Elf-Lord led Gandalf up to the sixth floor where the private rooms of the King's family were kept. Gerion showed Gandalf to a spacious guest room in the west wing of the mansion and then withdrew quickly, apparently too shocked by Gandalf's grave revelations to remain in the Wizard's company any longer than he had to.

Closing the door of the guest room behind him, Gandalf turned around and surveyed his temporary dwelling. A carved wooden couch with soft cushions lay against one wall and a large comfortable bed was set against the other while the wall directly ahead of Gandalf opened up on a small balcony that looked over the dell beyond.

Leaning his staff against the far wall, Gandalf doffed his peaked hat and set it down on the table by the bedside. Pulling off his boots, the Grey Wizard collapsed on the large bed, exhaustion eating away at his senses. He had started out from Rivendell on horseback nearly two weeks ago but had lost his horse along with all his provisions while crossing the Old Ford three days ago. As a result, the Grey Wizard had spent several long hungry days traversing the distance of the Ninglor Fields to Mirkwood. His stomach rumbled at the thought of the dinner that was still several hours away.

Letting out an exhausted breath, Gandalf lay back on the soft mattress and closed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to rest. He had managed to make an impact on Thranduil in their earlier conversation and he hoped that he would be able to further convince the Elven-King over the course of their dinner. If he could rally the Wood-Elves to gather their strength and take the fight to the Necromancer, the Shadow would be dealt a major blow. Yawning, Gandalf laid back and let sleep take him into its inviting grasp. His troubles would still be there when he awoke again.

The Grey Wizard slept for nearly two hours and he awoke to a loud knock on the door.

"Mithrandir?" Gerion called through the door, "His Highness is preparing to dine and requests that you join him."

Gandalf stumbled out of the bed and nearly fell over from disorientation. Clutching the wall for support, the Grey Wizard shouted back, "Ah yes, I shall be there in a moment."

Steadying himself, Gandalf quickly pulled on his boots and took a moment to wash his hands and face with the cool water that lay in a low bowl on a side table. Taking up his staff again, the Grey Wizard made for the door and hesitated, debating whether to don his hat again. Then he opened the door and joined Gerion outside, leaving his peaked cap in the room. Elrond of Rivendell had informed Gandalf many times that it was very impolite to wear hats to any sort of meal and the last thing the Grey Wizard wanted was to offend his host when his goal was to secure Thranduil's cooperation.

Gerion led Gandalf to the stairway but instead of descending to the large dining hall on the second floor, the Elf-Lord left Gandalf up to the seventh floor and into the private apartments of the Elven-King. The entire floor was comprised of Thranduil's personal chambers and they passed through a well-appointed parlour and entered what had to have been the King's Dining Room.

The chamber was made of the same white marble as the rest of the house and in the center of the room sat a gracefully fashioned rectangular table made of polished oak. Thranduil sat at the head of the table, clad in less formal robes of deep russet red, his silver crown still resting on his head.

The Elven-King gestured to a high-backed chair to his right and Gandalf crossed the room and took the seat, resting his staff against the closest wall.

"Have the food brought in," Thranduil commanded Gerion, and the Elf bowed and exited the room. A few moments later, the doors of the dining room opened again and Gerion entered the chamber, followed by four young Elves bearing platters of warm, succulent food. Gandalf's mouth began to water at the savory scents that were filling the air and the servants gracefully laid the dishes in front of Thranduil and his guest.

The main course was a roasted duck basted in pungent gravy. Dishes with freshly baked bread and spiced potatoes were set beside the main dish along with a platter of glistening greens and legumes. One of the servants set a bottle of wine on the table near Thranduil and with a nod from the King, filled both diners glasses with the ruby-red liquid.

Once the servants were finished laying out the meal, Thranduil dismissed them and Gerion with a gesture. Only after they were alone did Thranduil turn to Gandalf and offered a small smile.

"Do not stand on ceremony, Mithrandir," he said, "Please partake of this fine meal that my servants have prepared with great care."

Gandalf smiled and sliced a small piece of the duck from the whole and placed it in his mouth with a silver fork. Chewing for a moment, he smacked his lips in approval.

"The finest duck I've had in centuries," he proclaimed and began to tuck with the relish of a famished man.

"I shall pass your compliments to the chefs," Thranduil said and took a mouthful of duck himself.

For several minutes both Wizard and King ate with relish and it was only when the majority of the duck and potatoes were consumed, that Gandalf set his fork down and looked at Thranduil.

"Truly a fine meal," he praised, "Would you not be able to enjoy more feasts such as this if the Necromancer was defeated and cast out of your forest?"

Thranduil swallowed a mouthful of greens and gave Gandalf a sidelong glance. Reaching for his wineglass, Thranduil raised the crystal vessel to his lips and drank a long draught of the crimson liquid.

"I have considered your words, Mithrandir," the King said cautiously, "But to drive the Necromancer from the forest would require the muster of armies that the Wood-Elves have not gathered since the War of the Last Alliance."

He took a small roll from the dish and toyed with it on his plate for a moment.

"My lands are a full two hundred leagues from the Necromancer's Tower," he continued, "The threat that the sorcerer poses to us is minimal."

Gandalf finished chewing a potato and set his fork down, "The threat may be minimal for now, but it is growing. The darkness in that fortress wishes to rule all of Middle-Earth and it will not rest until all lands lie under the Shadow!"

Thranduil refilled his glass and took another sip of wine, "So you say, Mithrandir."

He drained the glass and continued, "But I have neither heard nor seen any proof that this Necromancer is the Enemy returned."

The Elven-King placed his glass back on the solid oak table and gazed out the clear-paned window set in the far wall that looked over the dell that was illuminated by the clean light of the Moon.

"If the Necromancer were truly Sauron returned, would not all of the forest lie under the Shadow already? Nay Mithrandir, I do not believe that this Necromancer is the Enemy. Mayhap he is one of the Ringwraiths who survived their master's fall."

Thranduil took a final bit of his duck and dropped his napkin over his plate.

"I have been within sight of Dol Guldur," he said, "I have felt the strength of the Necromancer and it is a pale shadow of the might of Sauron. I led my people against the armies of Mordor an age ago and I remember all too well the power of the Dark Lord."

The Elven-King looked Gandalf directly in the eye, "I have judged this matter soundly, Mithrandir and I will not risk the lives of my people against the evil that lives in Dol Guldur."

He rose from the table and walked towards the window and gestured to the peaceful dene that lay beyond.

"We live in peace and prosperity, Mithrandir. I will not violate that peace by embarking on a foolish crusade to destroy an evil far removed from my lands merely because a Wizard commands me so."

When Gandalf tried to reply, Thranduil cut him off sharply, "That is my final word on this matter, Mithrandir. I will not change my mind."

Gandalf glared at the King angrily and then turned back to his dinner, his brow furrowing in consternation.

Thranduil returned to his seat and was clapping his hands for the servants to bring in dessert when Gerion raced into the room, his face pale with concern.

"My Lord!" he cried out, "Prince Legolas has returned from the southern borders gravely injured. He says that Tower of Serien has been captured by the Necromancer!"

Thranduil's mouth fell open in shock and he sprang to his feet at once, "Take me to my son!" he shouted and Gerion quickly turned and led the King out of the hall.

Gandalf leapt to his feet as well and snatching up his staff, he followed the two Elves closely, aware that this sudden event might help to change Thranduil's attitude towards the Necromancer.

They hastened down the stairs and came to a stop at the second floor where Gerion led them to a spacious room that served as the palace infirmary. Thranduil rushed into the room first and upon spying his son lying down on one of the sickbeds, hurried to the Prince's side.

Gandalf stayed a few meters away, allowing the King and his son privacy. His gaze swept across the rest of the room, spying a second Elf lying further in on another sickbed. The Elf was considerably younger than the Prince of Mirkwood, with bright green eyes and pale blonde hair that was matted with sweat and filth from their desperate flight from the captured tower.

Walking over to the young Elf, Gandalf looked down on him with sympathy and compassion. An Elf-maiden was sitting by the young man's bedside, wiping his brow and administering healing salves to his wounds. Laying his hand on the young Elf's brow, Gandalf closed his eyes for a moment and whispered a Word in a strange tongue. The Elf's body was surrounded by a faint glow for a brief moment and then it faded. Almost immediately, the patient began to stir, his sleepy eyes blinking open to awareness. Nodding at the young Elf's returned vigor, Gandalf turned away to the other patient in the room.

Stepping closer to the prone Prince and his anxious father, Thranduil's concerned words began to filter into Gandalf's ears.

"You are injured," Thranduil exclaimed, "Lie back and let the healers do their work!"

Legolas pushed his father's hand away gently but firmly, "I am only mildly injured, Father. Kielen was wounded by a warg in our flight from the South."

"He has been healed," Gandalf interjected, "He needs merely to rest for a few days and he will be fully restored."

Legolas gave the Grey Wizard a look of gratitude and managed to slide up to a sitting position on the sickbed.

"What exactly happened to you and your companion?" Gandalf inquired, "Gerion said something about a tower in the South being overrun?"

Legolas nodded and looked at his father, "We arrived at the Tower of Serien to relieve Captain Navari's force, but upon our arrival we found the tower empty for all of Navari's soldiers had been slaughtered by the spiders."

A look of anxiety crossed Thranduil's face and Legolas continued, "I ordered two of my warriors to bring swift word back to you for reinforcements."

Anger mixed with grief on Legolas's weary face, "We found Meilen and Eeinen's bodies in the forest in our escape. The spiders ambushed them on their way back here."

Gandalf shook his head sorrowfully and whispered a prayer to the Valar for the _fea_ of the slain Elves.

"I ordered Captain Orcin to have our company secure the tower, thinking that we could hold the Tower until reinforcements arrived." A look of self-deprecation crossed the young Prince's face, "I was a fool," he said bitterly, "I thought our company could hold the tower against foes that had overwhelmed a force twice the size of ours."

He raised his head to meet Thranduil's inscrutable gaze, "The spiders attacked the tower at nightfall. And they were not alone."

Gandalf frowned, "What do you mean?" he asked, "Did they have other fell beasts with them?"

Legolas shook his head, "The spiders were joined by a party of Orcs."

Gandalf's eyes widened and Thranduil drew his breath in a sharp hiss.

"They overran our defenses in short order and killed almost all my warriors," Legolas said, his voice going low with sadness, "Only Kielen and I managed to flee the tower as it fell."

The Prince looked at his father with a hint of defiance, "I wanted to stay and fight to the end with my comrades, but I knew you would have wanted me to return and bring word."

Thranduil nodded, "You did well Legolas." A look of sympathy crossed his face, "We will of course mourn the brave warriors that died fighting for our realm. He reached out and patted his son on the shoulder affectionately, "But I am very thankful to the Valar that you were spared."

Legolas smiled back at his father for a moment, and then his gaze hardened again.

"We cannot let this intrusion go unpunished," the Prince said angrily, "We must rally our army at once and march for Dol Guldur at first light." He made to swing out of the sickbed, "I will lead them there myself and avenge all of our fallen comrades."

Thranduil's arm shot out like a striking serpent and held his son in place, preventing him from leaving the sickbed.

"Absolutely not!" the Elven-King declared, his voice ringing out in the infirmary like a high clear bell.

Legolas looked up at his father with surprise, "But Father, we…"

"The Necromancer's reach falls far short of our lands," Thranduil said firmly, "The only reason you were attacked was because our forces were encroaching on the border of his domain."

Legolas opened his mouth to reply but Thranduil cut him off with a sharp gesture.

"I will not risk the lives of our best and brightest against a threat that lies far beyond our borders.'

A look of incredulity crossed Gandalf's aged face, "My Lord, you must listen to reason."

Thranduil turned towards the Grey Wizard and Gandalf forged ahead, "The Prince's account proves that the Necromancer is a growing threat to your lands. You must rally your forces and drive this evil from the forest once and for all!"

Thranduil's face grew glacially calm, "I have spoken," he said coolly, "And my word is final."

Legolas struggled out of bed and got to his feet shakily, "Gandalf is right," he said forcefully, "We cannot let the Necromancer continue to grow in strength."

Concern mixed with anger on Thranduil's face and he extended a finger to his son, "You are not King yet," he said curtly, "It is not your place to determine the course of this kingdom."

When Legolas tried to protest again, Thranduil drew himself up to his full height and glared at his son, "You are my son and you will do as I command," he shouted, "Now get back into bed and rest. I will not risk losing you to the Shadow."

Legolas's body shook with defiance for a moment and then he reluctantly obeyed, returning to the sickbed without further dispute.

Gandalf would not be so easily subdued however.

"My Lord, this is madness!" The Grey Wizard struck his staff on the marble floor with a loud clack and drew himself up to his full height, looking Thranduil right in the eyes.

"You cannot let the Shadow grow any stronger. The Enemy will assault your lands. Perhaps not today, but eventually his reach will grow to your kingdom, unless you stand against him now!"

"Enough!" Thranduil bellowed his fair visage marred with outrage at the outright defiance of his edict.

"You are not a King or a Lord of any land, Mithrandir," the Elven-King hissed furiously, "You have no subjects to care for nor any lands to maintain."

He thrust a slim finger directly at the Grey Wizard, "I will not allow you to drive my kingdom to war with your insolent warmongering and dissent."

The Elven-King's voice rang out in a clear cry that carried through the entire palace, "Guards!" he shouted and a quartet of the silver-armored sentinels charged into the infirmary in seconds.

"Seize Gandalf the Grey and escort him from this kingdom at once!"

Gandalf sputtered in shock at Thranduil's sudden command and gripped his staff tightly as the four guards approached their swords at the ready, yet wary of the Grey Wizard who commanded power far beyond their ken.

For a moment Gandalf contemplated offering resistance and then swiftly dismissed the idea. To fight Thranduil's guards would achieve nothing save to draw the Elven-King's ire. Moreover, while Gandalf could overpower four Elves without much difficulty, he knew that there were hundreds of guards in the dell and that the final outcome would be the same.

Sighing at Thranduil's unreasonable response, Gandalf lowered his staff and allowed two of the guards to seize him by the arms and guide him towards the doorway.

"Escort him straight to the edge of our borders," Thranduil commanded the guards, his cold gaze fixed directly on Gandalf.

"You would do well not to return to the Woodland Realm for at least a century, Mithrandir;" Thranduil declared harshly, "Perhaps by then you will have learned not to question the will of a King in his sovereign demesne."

Gandalf shook his head and said nothing, allowing the guards to lead him away without a second glance.

The guards released Gandalf after they left the palace, but they remained clustered close to him, making sure he was following their lead out of the dell and back towards the main gate through which he had entered mere hours earlier. The party moved at a swift pace and within an hour, the gate was in sight.

As they reached the great barrier, several Elven sentries approached them, including the haughty captain that had initially denied Gandalf entry.

"By order of the King, Gandalf the Grey is banished from Greenwood for a full century," the leader of the four guards said.

Captain Hausein frowned, but nodded and called to the sentinels to open the gate. As the barrier split inwards without any visible agency from the Elves, the guards began to push Gandalf towards to the threshold and the shadowy path that lay beyond. As he was about to cross the boundary, Gandalf abruptly stopped in his tracks.

"Wait!" he cried out.

The four guards that surrounded him drew their swords menacingly, and their leader spoke in a firm tone.

"You are to leave our lands at once, Mithrandir;" he said curtly, "We shall remove you by force, if we must."

"I have no supplies," Gandalf said humbly, "Please, I simply ask for some provender for my long journey out of the forest."

The four guards ignored the Grey Wizard's entreaty and moved to thrust him over the threshold when a clear voice cried out into the night.

"Stop!" Captain Hausein commanded, approaching the small group. His gaze fell upon the four guards with disapproval, "It is not our way to turn travelers out on the road without food or water. Such is an act of cruelty and malice."

He barked a command in Sindarin to one of his subordinates, who dashed into one of the guard houses that lay near the inner wall of the gate. He emerged a moment later carrying a small traveling sack, which he quickly turned over to the Captain.

Hausein approached Gandalf with a hint of compassion on his stern face.

"I know not what insult you have paid the King that he has seen fit to banish you from our lands, but I would not see you starve to death on your journey home."

The Elf handed the satchel to Gandalf, who took it graciously.

"My thanks, Captain Hausein," the Grey Wizard said. Hausein nodded at him, at which point the guards ushered Gandalf out through the open gate and onto the smooth paved stones of the Old Forest Road.

"Do not return here for a hundred years, Gandalf the Grey," Captain Hausein as the gate was sealing shut behind Gandalf, "For your welcome shall be colder than the Forodwaith!"

The great gate sealed itself without a sound and the guards fell silent, keeping a watchful eye on Gandalf. With a great sigh, the Grey Wizard slung the sack of provender over his shoulder and took up his staff. Turning towards the West, he began to march back the way he had come, shaking his head at the utter failure of his mission. As he trailed away from the Woodland Realm, Gandalf ran a hand through his hair and realized absently that he had left his peaked hat behind in Thranduil's palace. Muttering an indistinct curse under his breath, Gandalf the Grey shuffled onwards, heading into the shadowy depths of Mirkwood.


	3. The Grace of Galadriel

**Chapter Two: The Grace of Galadriel**

Grey clouds were covering the great dome of the sky, masking the sun from view and shrouding the grasslands in a dismal light. Beneath the gathering gloom, Gandalf the Grey trudged across the tall grasses and wildflowers that covered the wide expanse of prairie that lay between the Gladden River and the Golden Wood. The plains stretched far ahead and behind, with the snow-capped peaks of the Misty Mountains lying to the West and the deep, broad waters of the Great River Anduin running to the East.

As Gandalf trekked through the tumbleweeds that covered the ground, his keen eyes stared ahead, focusing on a forest that stood a good ten miles ahead of him. Even at this distance, the great boughs of the trees were visible, their golden branches shining dimly under the grey skies. Planting his knotted wooden staff onto the solid earthen ground, Gandalf leaned on the rod for support and took a deep, weary breath.

Thranduil had banished Gandalf from the Woodland Realm before the Grey Wizard had been able to take any real rest and as soon as Gandalf had left the safety of Thranduil's borders, he had sensed the shadow of fell creatures in the dark woods that had begun stalking him. Gandalf had been forced to hike for two days and three nights before he was free of the shadowed trees of Mirkwood. But even though he had left the evil forest behind, the evil presence that was watching him had not abated, and he had not ceased his march since departing the forest.

Still leaning on his staff, Gandalf reached into the rucksack that Captain Hausein had generously supplied him with; the Grey Pilgrim withdrew a small half-empty crystal flask that contained a white-gold liquid. Unstoppering the bottle with nimble fingers, Gandalf raised the clear vessel to his lips and took several deep sips of the cordial. He felt the effects of the potent substance almost immediately; the warmth of the drink was coursing through his body, rejuvenating his spirit and driving away his weariness.

Taking a less weary breath, Gandalf restoppered the bottle and stowed it safely in his pack before pulling his staff out of the ground and resuming his journey. After several hours of vigorous marching, the tall trunks of the great trees were clearly visible and Gandalf smiled broadly at the sight of the Golden Wood of Lothlorien. Even as he was slowing his brisk march to a relaxed stroll, a rough sound came to his sharp ears.

Faint-yet vicious growls began to fill the air and a look of concern crossed Gandalf's aged brow. Grasping his staff tightly in his right hand, he resumed his swift pace, hurrying for the safety of the great mallorn trees of Lothlorien. The growls grew louder and a harsh wind began to pick up, blowing darker clouds over the grey skies.

Gandalf quickened his pace even more and for a moment he risked turning his head to gaze behind him. Seven dark figures were visible in the distance and growing steadily closer. All of the approaching beings were mounted on beasts of some sort. Gandalf's bright blue eyes narrowed, shining with a fierce inner light, and then he was able to see them clearly. The riders were Orcs, tall and dark-skinned, mounted on vicious-looking wolves. The mounts were greater than any normal wolf, each the size of a large horse, with sharp yellow teeth and fierce red eyes that signified their identity as wargs.

The warg-riders were charging swiftly towards Gandalf, who was without a doubt their intended quarry. Muttering angrily under his breath, Gandalf broke into a full-on run, racing for the safety of the Golden Wood. The Orcs roared in fury and spurred their mounts to ride even faster, swiftly trying to close in on their quarry before it escaped them completely. Running as fast as his aged body could move, Gandalf made for the tall golden trees that marked the borders of Lothlorien.

The forest was less than a dozen meters away when an angry roar filled Gandalf's ears and acting on a sudden intuition, the Grey Wizard halted his motion and spun on his heel to face his attacker. One of the black Orcs was a mere two meters away and was lunging forward; the warg-mount's sharp teeth bared in a motion that would rip the Wizard's head clean off his shoulders. Swinging his staff around in an incredibly swift motion that belied the age of his mortal body, Gandalf thrust the wooden rod at the looming Orc and shouted a Word of Power.

The crystal tip of Gandalf's staff flashing with a bright light and a brilliant bolt of crackling white lightning leapt from it and struck the Orc at point-black range. The deadly white lightning crackled all over the Orc's body with a dozen jagged tendrils, coursing through the foul creature's bones, searing its flesh and that of its mount. Both Orc and Warg fell to the grassy ground, smoke rising from their motionless forms, but Gandalf paid them no heed, for the angry growls were growing even louder. Spinning back towards the forest, the Grey Wizard charged for the trees with all speed, covering the remaining ten meters in as half as many seconds.

The pathway into Lothlorien lay in a gap between two of the massive mallorn trees and Gandalf dashed through the border of the forest and onto the smooth earth-beaten path that wound its way between the great silver trunks of the mallorns. Not pausing at all as he entered the woods, Gandalf raced along the path, his staff swinging in his hand and his grey hair flying about in his haste. His boots pounded along the smooth earthen path and he continued charging through the woods until he was a good hundred meters into Lothlorien and he could not hear the growls of the wargs anymore.

Planting his staff on the smooth pathway, Gandalf gasped for breath, the sudden expenditure of power that had been required to dispatch the warg-rider had only added to his mounting exhaustion. Leaning on his staff for support with both hands, Gandalf turned his gaze back towards the edge of the forest to his pursuers. No clouds marred the sky above Lothlorien and the light of the Sun easily penetrated the forest canopy, filling the entire forest with a warm and comforting light.

Gandalf's eyes were able to see through the hazy golden light that lit the forest path with ease and nearly a hundred meters away, the warg-riders were clustered on the pathway just within the boundary of the woods. The wargs and Orcs were sniffing around the edge of the forest, their dark eyes glancing all around the surrounding trees and down the smooth trail, yet they could not seem to see the Grey Wizard at all.

Some of the Orcs dismounted and began to wander down the road, their eyes darting all over the forest, crossing directly past Gandalf's position less than a hundred meters away in plain sight, without noticing him. The Orcs were stumbling as they went further into the woods and some of them were stretching their long muscled arms out, as if trying to feel their way through the unhindered pathway, for it seemed that some Power in the forest had clouded their senses and obstructed their vision.

Gandalf watched the Orcs and wargs stumble around for several minutes, their minds completely befuddled by the hidden Power that dwelt deep within Lothlorien. Even as Gandalf was lifting his staff from the ground and preparing to move on, he heard a series of light footsteps high above him. A knowing smile crossed Gandalf's aged face and he raised his gaze to the upper branches of the towering mallorns.

Thirty meters above the forest floor, a full score of slender figures were leaping from treetop to treetop, swiftly approaching the Orc-pack near the forest's edge. As they grew closer, the figures descended to the lower branches and Gandalf could see their pointed ears and eternally youthful faces that identified them as Elves. Clad in golden-brown tunics and trousers, the Elves resembled their Mirkwood counterparts at first glance, with longbows slung over their shoulders and daggers sheathed at their sides.

As the company of Elves neared the Orcs, they descended to the lower branches, landing on the eves silently. One of the Elves, a tall, golden-haired warrior, made a hand gesture and as one, the score of Elves drew their longbows, each of them nocking an arrow. The blonde leader chopped his hand down and a storm of twenty arrows rained down on the unsuspecting Orcs with lethal accuracy. Two of the Orcs and four of the wargs fell in the initial assault, the sharp arrows of the Elves striking them down swiftly.

The survivors roared in surprise and fear and quickly scattered, their mounts bucking and screeching. The Elves unleashed a second of hail arrows that struck down two more Orcs, leaving only two of the foul creatures alive. One of the two survivors barked a command in Black Speech and his mount sprang into action, bearing him swiftly down the path and out of the forest.

His companion growled and turned to follow his leader, only to be skewered by a trio of Elf-arrows. The Orc groaned and toppled off his mount, dead before he hit the forest floor. The blonde Elf shouted a command in Sindarin and his warriors unleashed a fresh hail of arrows, aiming for the fleeing commander. The great Orc's ear pricked at the sound of the approaching arrows and displaying astonishingly sharp instincts, he abandoned his mount in a mighty leap, rolling along the smooth path to the edge of the forest. Even as the razor-sharp shafts pierced the commander's warg, the great black Orc bounded out of the woods and into the safety of the fields beyond.

The Elves gracefully descended to the forest floor and spread out among their fallen enemies, ensuring that they were all truly dead. The blonde leader turned away from his subordinates and walked down the path towards Gandalf, slinging his bow onto his back. As the leader approached Gandalf, he raised his hand in the Elvish sign of greeting.

Gandalf smiled at the Elf whom he had first met nearly a millennium ago, " _Mae govannen_ , Haldir," he said warmly.

A broad grin crossed Haldir's youthful face and he reached out to grasp Gandalf's proffered hand in greeting.

"Well met indeed, Mithrandir," he said, squeezing the Grey Wizard's hand tightly, "Welcome to Lothlorien."

He released Gandalf from the handshake and surveyed the Grey Wizard, "The Lady foresaw your arrival, Mithrandir, and bade us to come and welcome you."

He glanced back at the company of Elves behind him, who were carrying the bodies of the Orcs and wargs out of the forest and an undernote of concern crept into his voice, "She said nothing of your hunters, however."

His gaze turned back to the Grey Wizard, "How long were those Orcs pursuing you, Mithrandir?"

Gandalf met Haldir's concerned gaze with a troubled frown, "For nearly four days now," he answered, "Although I had managed to stay ahead of them for the most part, they managed to catch up to me as I neared the woods."

Gandalf's blue eyes narrowed, "These Orcs were greater than any I've seen before," he remarked, "They were larger and more vicious. One of them almost took my head off."

Concern shone in Haldir's light green eyes, "They were strong indeed to have the courage to enter the Golden Wood."

Then he shrugged, "But no matter, they were unable to defy the power of the Lady." He smiled, "Come, Mithrandir, you must be weary from your travels."

He called to his comrades who had returned from their grisly task, "The Lord and Lady await you at the capital, Mithrandir."

Gandalf smiled at the mention of the rulers of Lothlorien and he took up his staff and began to walk down the smooth pathway, heading further into the Golden Wood, Haldir at his side.

The other Elves of Haldir's company fell in behind them and they made their way down the winding road. The simple earthen path was even and free of any obstacle, with beautiful flowers of soft pink and sky blue growing along the sides. The forest bracketed the road on both sides with the mighty mallorns stretching high above the travellers, their long branches covered in brilliant emerald leaves that brimmed with life. The rays of the afternoon sun filtered through the branches and shone down on the entire forest, bathing the path and trees in a brilliant, life-giving light that warmed the hearts of all who walked beneath its boughs.

As he made his way through the forest with his companions, Gandalf raise his gaze to the heavens and let the dazzling sunlight play over his aged features. The Grey Wizard had wandered the lands of Middle-Earth for over a millennium, but he had never found a place fairer than Lothlorien. The secret Power that dwelt within the woods cast its strength about the land, making it fair and wonderful, a place of peace and paradise.

Gandalf and the Elven company travelled for several hours, passing groves of lovely flowers and small bushes of delectable-looking berries. At length, the group came to a wide clearing where the mallorns thinned and gave way to a lush and thriving garden, with flourishing orchards laden with bright golden apples and silver pears. The company entered the garden and strolled along the main path, many of the Elves in the gardens smiling at them and waving in greeting. A large fountain made of white marble stood near the center of the garden, with clean, cool water pouring from its intricately carved lips.

Haldir smiled and led Gandalf to the fountain, "Come, Mithrandir," he said with a light tone, "Take part in the wonders of the Garden of Cerin Amroth."

Gandalf laughed merrily, setting aside his staff for a moment and plunged his hands into the water of the fountain, taking a handful of the cool clean water and splashing it onto his face. At once he felt the grime of his long journey being washed away and his weariness was reduced greatly. The cleansing waters of the fountain, drawn from the River of Nimrodel that flowed through the land of Lothlorien, washed away the exhaustion that had weighed down Gandalf's body and with a renewed sense of purpose; he recovered his staff and continued on, Haldir leading the way.

As they neared the edge of the gardens, Gandalf looked towards the West and saw a true wonder. Lying beyond the Gardens of Cerin Amroth was what appeared to be a great cluster of green towers. As they drew closer, it became evident that the towers were actually mallorn trees, their mighty branches spreading among each other and forming the base of a great tree-top city.

The smooth earthen path reappeared as they left the gardens and quickly became a solid stone road, paved with polished grey flagstones. The stone road led beyond the gardens towards a gently sloping hill that housed the many mallorn trees that made up the Green City. A high wall of green stone surrounded the entire hill, a sheer, impenetrable barrier that rose a full twenty feet above the ground.

There was but one gap in the emerald ring-wall, a wide gate of silver mithril-steel that faced to the South-West of the forest. As the group neared the green walls, a deep fosse became evident, a yawning moat that encircled the entire city, through which the cool waters of the Nimrodel flowed. The defenses of the Green City were formidable indeed, thought Gandalf as his party walked down the stone road towards the South-West side of the city so they could approach the gate.

A single, wide bridge crossed the wide moat, a robust structure made of the same green stone as the ring-wall that spanned the cold deep waters and reached the Gate of the City. Gandalf and his companions crossed the bridge easily and as they approached the Gate, Haldir called out a greeting in Quenya.

Unseen Elven sentinels replied in kind, and the great gate, made of the adamantine steel that was mithril, opened inward without a sound, allowing the Wizard and the Elves to pass through the great green walls of the city and into the capital of Lothlorien.

As Gandalf and his group entered the city, the Grey Wizard shook his head in amazement. He had visited Lothlorien dozens of times over the centuries, but he would never cease to be amazed by the sheer beauty and elegance of the city of Caras Galadhon.

The silver-grey trunks of the mallorns shot up all around them with elegant sets of stairs spiraling around them, leading upwards to the great _talans_ that were set within the vast canopy. Haldir spoke to one of his subordinates and the Elves of the company departed, heading for the various trees that hosted their respective homes. When they were alone, Haldir turned to Gandalf; his smooth features alight with pleasure at returning to his wonderful home.

"Come, Mithrandir," the Captain said, leading Gandalf up the pathway that wound between the colossal silver-grey trunks of the mallorns. They walked for a good twenty minutes, the sounds of Elves laughing and playing in the canopy above filtering down to their ears. The Elf and the Wizard soon came to the very heart of the city and stood before the greatest tree in the entire forest. Nearly thirty feet in circumference, the mallorn towered above the rest of its brethren, stretching nearly eighty feet from root to crown.

As with the others, an intricate set of stairs spiraled up the body of the tree, leading to the great _flet_ that had been built in its upper reaches. Gandalf and Haldir alighted upon the stairs and began to ascend them, heading for the great house that rested upon the canopy. They reached the summit within a few minutes and emerged onto the great platform that rested high above the forest floor.

Gandalf stood on the sturdy wooden surface and stared up at the great house that belonged to the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien. Standing a full five stories tall, the manse was made of smooth grey wood, with decorative flowers and vines winding all over the structure. Haldir was heading for the main archway that served as entrance to the home of the rulers of the forest. A pair of guards stood on either side of the archway, sharp spears of gilded steel grasped firmly in their mailed hands.

Gandalf and Haldir entered the house through the archway, neither guard barring their way, for as Haldir had said that Gandalf's arrival had been anticipated. The Elf and Wizard moved down the main corridor of the house until they entered a grand audience chamber, whose vaulted ceiling culminated high above Gandalf's head. At the far end of the chamber lay a raised dais, upon which sat a pair of elegant, high-backed wooden thrones.

Seated upon the throne to the right was a tall male Elf, with smooth, pale features and long silver hair that flowed down to his shoulder. He bore a striking resemblance to Thranduil at first glance, but the Elf-Lord's blue eyes shone with deep wisdom and patience. Seated next to him was an Elf-Lady of equal height and stature, but with long, golden hair that cascaded down her back in lustrous curls that shone as brightly as the morning sun.

The Lady's face was the fairest of all females in Middle-Earth, with soft, youthful skin and light blue eyes that saw with greater sight than most. A smile blossomed on her fair features at the sight of Gandalf and her blue eyes shone with warmth.

Haldir came before the two rulers and bowed deeply in a sign of utmost respect and obeisance.

"My Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel," he uttered, "I present Gandalf the Grey, brought to Caras Galadhon as per your commands."

Galadriel smiled at the young captain, "You have done well, Haldir," she said in a musical tone that pleased the ears of all who heard it.

"What of the intruders who dared to set foot within our fair forest?" Celeborn asked in a stern voice.

Haldir met the Lord of Lorien's gaze, "We attacked the Orcs as soon as we saw them, my Lord," he said in a proud voice.

"Yet one escaped," Galadriel said, in a disappointed tone.

Haldir's pale features flushed red with embarrassment, "Forgive me, my Lady," he said in contrition, "The Orc commander fled the forest before we could slay him, and I did not have your permissions to leave the forest."

Celeborn frowned, "You did your best, Captain," he said in an even tone, "We could not ask for anything more." He raised a slim hand in dismissal, "You may go."

Haldir bowed again and then departed the chamber, his boots falling softly on the smooth wooden floor.

Once the Captain's footsteps faded into the distance, the Lord and Lady rose from their thrones as one, and smiling, they descended the dais hand in hand and approached Gandalf with broad smiles on their fair faces.

"Mae govannen, Mithrandir," Celeborn said in warm welcome and clasping Gandalf' hand in greeting; he embraced the Grey Wizard warmly. Gandalf smiled and returned the Lord of Lorien's embrace with equal vigour.

"Well met indeed, my friend," Gandalf said with a smile, "It is a pleasure to be in your great city once again."

"It is our pleasure to have you here, Mithrandir," Galadriel said, her snow-white dress shining with an inner radiance as she drew closer to the Grey Wizard. Gazing at Gandalf with her sky-blue eyes, Galadriel took Gandalf's rough, callused hand in her soft, smooth appendage and lifted it to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to the aged digits.

Gandalf smiled with great happiness at the Lady's warm gesture of affection and he bowed his head in respect.

Galadriel smiled at Gandalf with warm affection and admiration of his gracious manner, "Long and weary have been your travels, Mithrandir," she said, "Come and let the comforts of our land remove your weariness and restore your vigor."

Gandalf beamed in gratitude, "The generosity of the Lord and Lady is boundless," he declared.

Celeborn clapped the Grey Wizard on the shoulder, "As we have said many times, my friend, you are always welcome in Lothlorien."

And so it was that Gandalf the Grey entered the home of the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood and was succoured and cleansed of his weariness, both in body and in spirit.


	4. Perilous Ponderings

**Chapter Three: Perilous Ponderings**

A choir of Elven voices rang out through the lofty treetops of Caras Galadhon. Joining their voices in a song of joy, dozens of youthful Elves were capering about on a great square in the tree-city, crying their praises to the Valar for the beautiful weather and their bountiful harvest.

Resting comfortably in a well-appointed chair carved from the fallen branch of a might mallorn tree, Gandalf the Grey raised a crystal goblet of honey-gold wine to his lips and took a long draught of the sweet liquid. Smacking his lips in delight, Gandalf leaned back and stretched his aged limbs in contentment. A full month had passed since the Grey Wizard had arrived at the wondrous capital of Lothlorien and the stay in the hidden paradise that was the Golden Wood had removed all his cares and fully restored his vigour.

The Elvish musicians at the far end of the square struck up a new tune and one of the comely Elf-maidens in the square danced over to Gandalf and grabbed his hand playfully.

"Come join us Mithrandir!" she cried gaily, her soft auburn locks flowing freely in the evening breeze.

Gandalf laughed out loud and set his goblet down, getting to his feet to join in the festivities. The summer celebrations in Lothlorien brought back faint memories for Gandalf of the great festivals in mystic Valinor, festivals that he had once attended as one of the Ainur, named Olorin, a Maiar spirit in the Blessed Realm that was now removed from the Circles of the World. Such events reminded Gandalf of the joyous millennia he'd spent in the Undying Lands before the Valar had charged him with taking a mortal form and sailing to Middle-Earth to aid the Free People in combating the Shadow of Sauron.

He was just about to join the young Elf in the square when another female voice called out to him.

"Mithrandir!"

Gandalf turned to face another Elf-maiden, this one clothed in the white skirts of Galadriel's personal handmaidens.

"The Lady wishes to speak with you this evening," the handmaiden declared in a soft but clear voice.

Gandalf disengaged from the young maiden, murmuring apologies and quickly followed the handmaiden away from the festivities. They made their way up a set of stairs and onto the higher levels of the city, heading towards the manse of Galadriel and Celeborn.

Gandalf felt a pang of regret at having to abandon the festivities but his pulse quickened at the summons of the Lady. The night Gandalf had arrived, he had wished to discuss his progress in the specific mission he had been on for the last three years, but both Galadriel and Celeborn had insisted that Gandalf rest and regain his strength before they began to debate such weighty matters.

The Grey Wizard alighted upon a second set of stairs, ascending them with ease and unaided for his staff remained in the guest chambers of Celeborn's house. It was only in a sanctuary such as Lothlorien that Gandalf did not feel the need to carry his instrument of power with him at all times. He reached the main landing of Celeborn's _talan_ and followed the handmaiden through the main arch and into the interior of the great house. Gandalf and his guide passed through the well-appointed halls of the manse, and the Elf-maiden lead him up stairway after stairway until they reached the highest level of the house. They made their way down the hall and came out onto a wooden patio that stretched out over the main platform below.

The Lord and the Lady were both present on the terrace, with Celeborn standing at the far railing, looking out over the forest while Galadriel was seated at the table that lay at the center of the patio, a delicate glass half-filled with the same wine that Gandalf had just been drinking.

Celeborn turned away from the view, his sharp Elf ears picking up the sound of Gandalf's boots on the hardwood floor.

"Ah, Mithrandir, well met," he said, "Come, sit and avail yourself of the sweet nectar we have brought out for tonight."

He gestured to a delicate glass bottle of the white wine that sat on the table alongside two empty glasses.

Gandalf did exactly that, taking a seat at the table and pouring himself a fresh drink as Galadriel dismissed her handmaiden, gently commanding her to close the terrace doors behind her. As the carved wooden barrier clicked shut, Celeborn approached the table and poured himself a glass of wine, but did not take a seat, instead leaning back against the closest railing and taking a sip of the sweet beverage.

"You appear rested and refreshed, Mithrandir," Galadriel said, giving the Grey Wizard a fond look.

"Merely being in your fair realm has fully restored my vigor," Gandalf replied, taking a deep breath of the air that was freshest at the highest tier of Caras Galadhon.

"Then let us resume our discussions of the evil that lies across the river," Celeborn said, setting his glass on the railing beside him.

Gandalf nodded and set his glass down as well. He had given the Lord and Lady the news about his utter failure to convince Thranduil to act against the Necromancer, but they had not had a full discussion as to what to do next.

"The Necromancer grows in strength with each day that passes," Galadriel commented, her musical voice going grave with concern, "The tidings you have brought us from Thranduil's realm only confirm what we have long suspected."

"Indeed," Celeborn affirmed, "That Orcs now do the Necromancer's bidding are an indisputable sign that he is gathering an army of fell creatures to him to make war on the lands of the Eldar."

"If only Thranduil had seen sense," Gandalf muttered angrily, "For his realm is the one most threatened by Dol Guldur."

"Yes, it is," Galadriel returned, "For my power and my husband's defends Lothlorien from darkness, and I sense that the Necromancer has not yet grown in strength that he can defy our will."

Gandalf's gaze drifted to the Lady's fair-skinned hands and he saw the hidden Ring of Power on her right index finger, as plain as day. Of all the Rings forged by the Elves, three had been wrought by the master-smith Celebrimbor and had been distributed to the highest Elves in Middle-Earth. Few of the Wise knew where the Three resided, and those who did never spoke openly of them.

Made of exquisitely wrought mithril, the silver band bore a single sparkling diamond that shone with the radiance of a star. Galadriel had wielded Nenya, the Ring of Adamant for over two thousand years, ever since the day Isildur had cleaved the One Ring from the black hand of Sauron. The power Nenya was great indeed, for it was with the Ring of Adamant that Galadriel had made the Golden Wood into the beautiful and timeless paradise that it was. It was also the means by which she wove the veils of protection that kept all evil creatures out of the blessed forest.

"The power of the Lord and Lady is great indeed," Gandalf said, "It is through your efforts that Lothlorien has become the paradise that it is."

Galadriel laughed lightly at the Grey Wizard's compliment and her keen gaze swept over his aged hands and the great ring that rested upon his right index finger, concealed from the sight of all but the greatest of the Wise. For Gandalf also bore one of the Three, the Ring of Fire, Narya. The Red Ring had resided with Cirdan the Shipwright for the first millennium of the Third Age, but upon Gandalf's arrival on the shores of Middle-Earth, the Shipwright had gifted the Ring to the Grey Wizard, proclaiming that it was idle on the western shores and that Gandalf could make better use of it than him.

The Red Ring rested upon Gandalf's finger, a gleaming golden band set with a great red ruby that shone with a warm inner light, as visible to Galadriel as Nenya was to Gandalf. The other Ring-Bearers could see the hidden rings of the Elves, for their power allowed the wielders to see many things that lay hidden from all.

Gandalf wasn't sure if Celeborn could see Narya, or for that matter Nenya. Knowing how close the Lord of Lothlorien was to his wife, Gandalf suspected the Sindar Elf knew full well what his wife carried, but had never spoken of it, for the disposition of the Three was something of uttermost secrecy. Sauron had ever desired the Three Rings of the Elves, and so the Eldar had taken great precautions to keep their locations a carefully guarded secret.

The Red Ring had served Gandalf very well, for with its power, he had been able to bolster his own spirit in times of great weariness and had indeed used that power to kindle hope and strength in the hearts of others as well. Stroking the great red gem of his hidden ring subtly, Gandalf took another draught of the white wine and commented, "Strength must be combined with wisdom to achieve good ends."

"And it is wisdom and strength that we need, so that we can banish the darkness from the North once and for all," Galadriel said. A look of disappointment crossed her face, "But it seems that one of our greatest allies had refused to aid us at all."

A dark look crossed Gandalf's face, "Indeed," he said with a touch of anger, "Thranduil refuses to see sense at all." He set the glass down on the table with a clink and rose from his chair and strode to the far balcony.

The terrace that they were on sat at the very height of Celeborn's house, rising over a hundred feet from the level ground of the plains beyond the forest. From this height, Gandalf could see the many _talans_ of Caras Galadhon and the hundreds of joyful Elves carousing in pleasure. Beyond the green walls of the city, he could see the peaceful gardens of Cerin Amroth, the lovely fruit-trees and laughing fountains painted white by the clean light of the full moon.

Turning his sharp gaze eastwards, Gandalf saw the forest abruptly terminate near the banks of the great river Anduin, whose swift and broad waters separated Lothlorien from the lands beyond it. On the far side of the river lay wide plains that ran into the dark fastness of South Mirkwood. It was there, dozens of miles into the darkness of the forest that another tower rose up beyond the twisted and diseased canopy, its stone walls looking forbiddingly down on the dark boughs beneath. Few details could be made out from this distance, but the highest level of the tower had a great window that looked West, staring out at Lothlorien like a great eye, ever watchful.

"Dol Guldur," Gandalf said coldly.

"Yes," Galadriel assented, stepping to his side, her pale blue dress rippling in the evening breeze.

"He lurks there," the Elven-Queen said, her blue eyes affixed on the far-off tower, "The Necromancer has fouled the Greenwood with his evil presence for nigh a millennium. We have tolerated his presence for far too long, and the time has come for us to combat this evil, lest it wax in strength and come forth to destroy us."

"Yet our plans have failed to bear fruit," Celeborn replied, joining his Lady and the Wizard at the balcony. The Lord of Lothlorien placed his strong hands on the delicate rail that lined the terrace and gazed out at the forest below.

"The stratagem we developed three years ago was to forge alliances with the other Free People in Middle-Earth. It was for this purpose, Mithrandir that you travelled far and wide, from Minas Tirith in Gondor to the Grey Havens in Mithlond to the Woodland Realm of Thranduil."

Gandalf nodded at the Elf-Lord, a forlorn expression on his aged face, "My travels were long and arduous but served to achieve little. Gondor is embattled on both East and South, for the dreaded Nazgul occupy the ancient fortress of Minas Ithil and their Orc armies' rampage throughout the fair woods of Ithilien and besiege the once-mighty capital of Osgiliath itself.

The Grey Wizard turned his gaze southwards, as if trying to see the white city of Minas Tirith that lay far beyond Lothlorien's borders.

"Orcs assault Gondor ceaselessly from the captured city of Minas Ithil, rampaging throughout Ithilien, even coming as far as the city of Osgiliath," he continued, "Gondor has no men to spare for us, but even if they did, aid would be difficult to obtain for the Men of Middle-Earth have long been estranged from the Elves."

"Mithlond and Rivendell have offered us aid, have they not?" Galadriel asked.

"Indeed," Gandalf assented, "Lord Cirdan and Lord Elrond are our faithful allies, but they suffered considerable losses at the Second Battle of Fornost nearly a century ago. While the combined forces of Mithlond, Imladris and Gondor were able to destroy the Army of Angmar utterly, they all suffered many casualties, and the Elven forces were significantly reduced in that vicious conflict."

"Which is why it was essential for us to enlist the aid of the Woodland Realm," Celeborn stated with an edge in his voice, "The Elves of Mirkwood are the most populous of all the Elven-Realms of Middle-Earth. Thranduil could muster an army numbering well over a thousand, if he were but willing to act."

The Elf-Lord turned his gaze back to the diseased trees of distant Mirkwood and his expression grew harsh.

"Yet rather than muster his forces and stand together to remove this threat from our lands, the Elven-King would rather hide behind his walls and waste his days through inaction and ignorance, while the Shadow grows stronger with each day that passes."

"Do not judge him too harshly, my husband," Galadriel said softly, "For Thranduil suffered great loss at the hands of the Enemy in the War of the Last Alliance. Those losses weigh heavily on his mind and it is the fear of further loss that drives him to retreat rather than fight."

"But his reticence makes our initial strategy unfeasible," Celeborn replied, "For without the strength of the Woodland Realm, we cannot summon the force we would need to attack the Necromancer. Even if Cirdan and Elrond were to send their forces to join our Galadhrim warriors, we would have perhaps a thousand Elves to stand against the hordes of the Necromancer."

"A thousand against the unknown hordes of the Necromancer," Gandalf said in a weary tone, "We needed the Elven-King's aid and he denied us completely."

"Then we are forsaken," Celeborn said grimly, "For we alone have not the strength to assault Dol Guldur outright, not when we have no idea of the numbers that lurk behind its ancient stone walls."

"The Necromancer is secretive and wary," Galadriel acceded, "He sends his forces afield under the cover of night and sets his power around his dwelling through an aura of darkness and fear that has shielded him from my sight. Only on rare occasions have I been able to prevail against his will and scry into the depths of Dol Guldur and have seen little of significance."

"Few of our scouts have had the strength of will to draw near to Dol Guldur," Celeborn added, "And those who do are swiftly noticed by the Necromancer's servants and are beset upon by his foul beasts."

"If we cannot take military action against the Necromancer, then we must at least undertake a mission to penetrate his lair and discover his secrets," Galadriel insisted. A stern light came to the Lady's eyes and she gazed at the tower in distance with a cold strength.

"Discovering the true identity of this sorcerer and learning his secrets will be a great step towards defeating him once and for all," she stated with purpose.

"Indeed," Celeborn agreed, his long silver hair flowing in the cool summer breeze, "But who among us has even the strength to draw near Dol Guldur, let alone enter it?"

There was a long silence on the high terrace, broken only by the faint jubilations of the Elves far below. The song of the forest birds could barely be heard this high above the forest and the evening wind blew across the patio, stirring the radiant tresses of the rulers of Lothlorien.

"I shall go," Gandalf said abruptly, his gruff voice breaking the calm silence that had settled upon the patio.

Both Galadriel and Celeborn turned to the Grey Wizard with alarm and shock emblazoned upon their fair visages.

"Do not be reckless, Mithrandir," Celeborn stated sharply, "Such a task is extremely dangerous and would carry a high chance of death or worse!"

"The danger would be great, even for one as wise and mighty as you," Galadriel remarked, her voice laden with concern and wariness.

"Indeed," Gandalf acceded, "The risk is very great, but there is no one else among the Wise who could take on this task."

"Surely one of the other Istari could assist us in this quest?" Galadriel inquired. She left the balcony and returned to her chair, settling into the carved wooden seat. Her expression was pensive at the potential danger that the Grey Wizard intended to venture into.

Gandalf's face grew mournful, "Nay my Lady. The two Blue Istari ventured East and South over a millennium ago and I have not heard from them since. The Brown Istar is the least of our Order and spends his days tending to the flora and fauna of Middle-Earth. As for our leader…"

Gandalf's expression grew perturbed, "The White Wizard is the greatest of my Order and he would be able to contribute much to our cause. But he ventured into the East many centuries ago and I have not laid eyes upon him in nearly three hundred years."

The Grey Wizard shook his head in resignation, "If the foul depths of Dol Guldur are to be delved into, then it is I who must venture forth."

A brief smile crossed Galadriel's face and she looked at her husband, "What say you, my love? Shall we allow the Grey Pilgrim enter the shadow of Amon Lanc on his own? Shall Mithrandir venture into the Enemy's stronghold alone while the Elves do nothing?"

Celeborn returned his wife's words with a smile of his own, "He may enter alone, but he shall not be unaided."

The Lord of Lothlorien clasped Gandalf on the shoulder, "Come, Mithrandir," he said, "If you are to undertake such a perilous mission, we shall ensure that you are as well-equipped as possible."

"Indeed," said Galadriel rising from her chair, "We may not be able to join you in your quest, Mithrandir, but we shall pave the way for you as best we can."

The Lord and the Lady led the Grey Wanderer into the luxurious comforts of their home as the bright orb of the Moon shone out over the land of Lothlorien, bathing the forest in its clean, radiant light.


	5. From Golden Wood to Mirk Wood

**From Golden Wood to Mirk Wood**

The morning sun was just beginning to poke its head from beneath the horizon, bathing the great city of Caras Galadhon in a reddish-gold glow. From a wall-length glass-paned window in the guest room of Celeborn's house the sunrise shone upon Gandalf the Grey who was lacing up his boots and stuffing several items into a small haversack.

Finishing with his boots, Gandalf stood up and glanced around the roomy quickly, Satisfied that he had packed all that was vital to his mission, the Grey Wizard took his knotted wooden staff in his right hand and slinging the satchel over his shoulder he left the room. Dawn had not yet fully come and many of the servants that dwelt in the ruler's house were as yet asleep and so the Grey Wizard swiftly made his way to the main archway that led out of the house.

To his surprise, both Galadriel and Celeborn were waiting there for him. The Lady of Lothlorien was robed in a sheer nightgown of deep blue, the velvet material clinging to her soft, youthful skin.

"Surely you did not think to depart without saying a proper farewell, Mithrandir?" she asked with a teasing smile on her fair features.

"Such is the way of the Grey Pilgrim" Celeborn rejoined, his slim Elvish frame clad in a tunic and trousers that were made of the palest silver, matching his long flowing hair exactly.

Gandalf shook his head at the incessant wit of the Elves; a full month had passed since he had declared his intention to infiltrate Dol Guldur. He had spent those four weeks learning as much as he could about the dangers near the Necromancer's Tower from those few brave Elven scouts that had approached the Hill of Sorcery in the past.

"I have tarried here long enough," he said gruffly, "If I am to embark on my mission, I must do it soon, ere summer pass us entirely."

"Indeed," Celeborn replied, his strong voice filled with understanding, "We know why you must leave Mithrandir. But we still have several gifts to offer you."

With that, the Lord of Lothlorien stepped away from the exit and retreated into a small alcove that lay down a side hall. He emerged a moment later, bearing two packages in his hand, one slim and rod-shaped and the other a square squat parcel. He handed the square package to Galadriel and then unwrapped the slim parcel, revealing a smooth-hilted sword, sheathed in a scabbard of pure silver, decorated with subtle Elven runes.

"This blade was forged by the Noldor Elves," Celeborn stated, holding out the weapon for Gandalf to take. The Grey Wizard took the blade from Celeborn and held it before him, running his aged fingers along the glimmering scabbard. He grasped the hilt firmly and in a single motion withdrew the blade from it's casing with a ringing of steel on silver.

The Elven blade was forged of pure steel, long and sharp with a slight curve to it. Elvish runes of Power were carved into it and the edge shone with a fierce light.

"This is Gailcrist," Celeborn commented, "The _light-cleaver_ , for this blade is exceptionally easy to handle and weighs almost nothing to the hand of the fair-hearted."

Gandalf swung the blade through the air several times, and then returned it to it's sheath.

"Many thanks, my friend," Gandalf said, "I am certain this blade shall aid me in my quest."

"As shall this," Galadriel added, holding out the square package. Gandalf took the wrapped object in his hands and deftly undid the soft paper wrappings, letting them fall aside to reveal a broad cloak of dappled grey cloth.

Galadriel reached out and stroked the soft grey fabric, "A Grey Cloak for the Grey Pilgrim," she said, her eyes shining with amusement.

"A gracious gift indeed," Gandalf returned, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth."

"But this cloak is not mere cloth and fabric," Celeborn said with a knowing look.

Galadriel laughed lightly and looked at Gandalf, "My husband speaks the truth, as always," she admitted.

"This coat shall not only shield you from the elements of the earth, but from the eyes of all who see with mortal sight. For I wove it with my own hands, and in the weaving, I wove not merely thread and cloth but Power as well. As long as all the strands remain connected, the spell shall endure and hide the wearer from prying eyes."

Gandalf's eyes widened and he draped the cloak over his shoulders leaving the cowl to hang back, "A mighty gift indeed," he commented in wonder.

The morning sun was beginning to shine through the glass-panelled windows of the entrance hall and Gandalf slung his bag over his shoulder, "I must depart now, if I am to make good time."

Galadriel and Celeborn both smiled at the Grey Wizard and gestured towards the door.

"Go forth then, Mithrandir," Celeborn said with a nod.

"May the blessings of the Valar go with you," Galadriel added, her lustrous golden hair shining in the light of the morning sun.

With a nod of gratitude, Gandalf turned away and strode through the archway and into the courtyard platform of the great _flet_ that supported Celeborn's house. The Grey Wizard quickly neared the stairway that wound around the thick silver trunk of the mallorn and descended to the forest floor in quick order.

He made his way down the gently sloping hill, winding between the great trunks of the mallorns and came to the great gate of Caras Galadhon. A full score of Galadhrim warriors were manning the gate and their blonde-haired leader nodded at the Grey Wizard, clearly having been informed of Gandalf's departure beforehand. The mithril gate swung open without so much as a creak and Gandalf strode through the gap and onto the solid stone bridge beyond.

Crossing over the deep waters of the moat, Gandalf glanced to his left and saw the Gardens of Cerin Amroth to the North, the first rays of the morning Sun shining down on the beautiful groves and laughing fountains. Already a few of the Galadhrim were laughing in the fresh daylight and the sight of their carefree play warmed Gandalf's heart.

Turning to the South, the Grey Wizard began to march towards the swift-running waters of the Nimrodel River that ran through South Lothlorien. Following the stone pathway, Gandalf headed south-west for nearly half an hour before he could hear the loud burbling of running water. Glancing ahead, he could see a large gap between two towering mallorns, beyond which lay the broad waters of the Nimrodel.

Marching through the gap, Gandalf quickly came to the Western banks of the river and saw a small dock where a half-dozen dozen modest boats lay. Several Galadhrim were moving about the dock, mending ships and carrying goods. A small ways away from the main dock lay a single boat, partially beached on the shoreline with a trio of Elves tending to it. One of the three Elves was Haldir and he turned to face Gandalf as the Grey Wizard approached him.

"Ah Mithrandir," he called out, "Splendid timing."

Gandalf met Haldir's gesture of greeting and as he came near the Elf, clasped his hand in greeting.

"Lord Celeborn has commanded us to bear you to the southern shores of the Anduin," Haldir commented.

Gandalf nodded, "Very gracious of you," he said in thanks, "I am sure your skills as a mariner are no less than your talents as a warrior."

One of the other Elves laughed in amusement, "Nay, Mithrandir," he said, his blonde hair flowing down to his collar, "Haldir could no more sail a ship than he could sprout wings and fly."

The Galadhrim Captain's smooth cheeks burned red with embarrassment but he gave the other Elf a grudging nod.

"Cuymil speaks the truth," Haldir admitted, "I am merely conveying the commands of the Lord and Lady. Cuymil and his brother Huymil shall ferry you to the far shores."

Gandalf chuckled in mirth and raised his staff off the ground, "Well then, let us be on our way."

Haldir nodded at Cuymil and Huymil and the two Elves quickly moved the boat into the water. An elegantly carved vessel made from the wood of a mallorn branch, the silver-grey boat was oval-shaped with a broad oar extending from each side. Several low benches lay in the center of the boat and the vessel could easily carry a dozen Elves without issue.

Cuymil and Huymil settled into the rowing position on either side of the boat and Haldir leapt lightly into the center of the vessel and then turned to Gandalf, offering the aged Istar a hand.

Gandalf simply smirked mischievously and leapt off the shore and into the boat with spryness that belied his seemingly old age. Haldir's eyes widened in surprise and Gandalf simply chuckled at the Elf before taking a seat on one of the benches and laying his staff across his lap.

Shaking his head at the contradictions of the wizard's appearance, Haldir turned to the Elven brothers. "Cast off," he commanded in a calm voice and Cuymil and Huymil obeyed, casting off the lines and beginning to row swiftly.

The boat left the western shore and entered the main body of the river, both Elves rowing steadily. The current was swift and the boat was quickly borne down the Nimrodel, passing the woods of Lothlorien that lay on both shores. In less than an hour, the boat reached the mouth of the Nimrodel where it emptied into the Great River Anduin.

Paddling carefully, Cuymil and Huymil steered the boat into the broad, deep waters of the great river and began to paddle towards the far eastern shore. Gandalf raised his gaze towards the flat plains that lay beyond the river. The flatlands terminated at the dark twisted trees of South Mirkwood and even from this distance, Gandalf could the dark forbidding tower of Dol Guldur rising above the diseased treetops.

The two Elves steered the boat across the wide river and brought the vessel to a low bank on the eastern shore. Once they were securely on the bank, Gandalf rose to his feet steadily and leapt out of the boat and onto the riverbank in a single fluid motion.

Planting his staff on the ground, the Grey Wizard turned to the three Elves that remained in the boat.

"My thanks for a swift and uneventful journey," Gandalf said to Cuymil and Huymil.

The two Elves nodded at the Grey Wizard and Haldir glanced at the Grey Wizard from his seat in the boat.

"I suspect I know where your destination lies, Mithrandir," the Galadhrim Captain hinted, his sharp grey eyes looking upwards to the dark tower that rose in the distance.

Gandalf frowned but said nothing to contradict or confirm Haldir's suspicions.

"If that is truly your destination," Haldir continued, "Then I will wish you the best, Mithrandir. May the blessings of the Valar fall upon you for this quest."

Gandalf smiled, "Thank you, Haldir." He lifted his staff from the ground, "I wish you a safe journey home." With that, he turned on his heel and began marching across the wide plains, headed straight for the dark woods beyond.

It was a good eighty miles from the eastern shore to the edge of the forest and it wasn't until midday of the next day that Gandalf finally reached the borders of Mirkwood. Stopping before the dark fastness of the forest, Gandalf leaned on his staff for a few moments of well-deserved rest. Withdrawing a small crystal flask from his haversack, Gandalf unstoppered the vessel given to him by Captain Hausein several months ago. One of Celeborn's servants had filled the flask with a cordial of the Galadhrim's making, a pure white liquid that was much more potent than the miruvor produced in the Woodland Realm.

Raising the flask to his lips, Gandalf took a few sips of the precious liquid and immediately felt his weariness being washed away. Restoppering the flask, Gandalf returned it to his bag and removed a leaf-wrapped package. Unwrapping it deftly, the Grey Wizard removed a single golden wafer of waybread and took a quick bite. The bread was soft and sweet and melted in Gandalf's mouth in an instant.

Chewing and swallowing the mouthful, Gandalf felt his strength returning in full. Smiling at the restorative powers of the Elvish waybread, Gandalf quickly rewrapped the remainder and stored it in his bag again. The waybread of the Elves was just as potent as their cordial, with a single bite being enough to fuel a man to march for a full day.

His energy fully restored, Gandalf raised his staff and strode into the dark fastness of Mirkwood, alighting onto the forest path that lay between two twisted trees. Dol Guldur laid a mere dozen miles from the southern edge of the forest and the Necromancer's influence was very strong in this part of the forest.

The Forest Road was completely ruined in this part of the forest, with thick, thorny vines creeping all over the pathway. Gandalf had to prod several of the thick flora out of his way with the butt of his staff. He was less than two miles into the forest when his ears picked up a faint skittering of hairy legs on twisted bark. His blue eyes flashed with recognition, Gandalf had been in Mirkwood many times over his thousand years of roaming Middle-Earth and he knew the sound of the spiders all too well. Switching his staff to his left hand, Gandalf withdrew Gailcrist from its scabbard with a sharp ring of metal on metal.

Raising both sword and staff before him, Gandalf continued to trek onwards, his eyes darting all over the path before him, his ears listening for any hint of approaching enemies. He had travelled perhaps two hundred meters more when a sudden rustling sounded in the underbrush. A swift intuition came over him and he spun towards to the source of the noise just in time to see a trio of giant spiders come charging out of the trees!

Shaking off the shock, Gandalf leapt into action as the spiders rushed at him, their sharp pincers snapping ferociously, dark venom dripping from their slavering jaws. Leaping to the side, Gandalf sidestepped the charging arachnids and lashed out with his staff, striking the closest spider on the abdomen. The foul creature screeched at the touch of the hallowed rod that had been forged in holy Valinor and even as it howled in pain, Gandalf moved with incredible speed and plunged the sharp tip of Gailcrist straight into the spider's brain!

The arachnid screeched a final cry and went still, but Gandalf had no time to luxuriate in his victory as the other two spiders were wheeling about on the cracked forest path to attack. Drawing his sword back, Gandalf thrust his staff forward and met the spiders head on, spinning between them, he struck one in the eyes with his staff, driving it back and slashed at the other with his sword, severing two of its limbs. The maimed beast howled in pain and Gandalf pushed his advantage, stabbing the creature in the face, ending its life.

Another intuition came over him, but even as he spun, the last spider ploughed right into him and knocked Gandalf to the vine-infested forest floor. The foul creature was crawling over the Grey Wizard's body, using its thick hairy legs to pin him to the ground while it thrust its sharp mandibles right at the wizard's face, trying to infect him with its poison.

Gasping in shock, Gandalf tried in vain to throw the spider off, but its strength was great. He cursed under his breath, struggling ferociously to keep the beast's poisonous mandibles at bay. He could easily destroy the spider with a single Word of Power, but he did not want to risk using a spell so close to Dol Guldur, for fear of alerting the Necromancer to his presence.

Instead, Gandalf summoned the hidden power of his Ring, calling on Narya to bolster his strength and spirit. With his renewed strength, Gandalf freed his hands and gave the spider a mighty shove, throwing it off his body and onto the forest path where it landed on its back and writhed helplessly. Leaping to his feet with great vigor, Gandalf raised his sword and drove it down with all his strength, impaling the spider in its vulnerable belly. The beast gave a pained screech and Gandalf withdrew the blade, letting the spider's life-blood spill out of it in a foul black spray.

Moving away from the spewing corpse, Gandalf leaned on his staff or a moment and gazed at the foul remains that lay scattered on the forest floor. Shaking his head in disgust, the Grey Wizard turned back towards the pathway and continued to march towards the darkness.

The trees grew more stunted and withered as Gandalf drew closer to Dol Guldur, with the sharp vines strangling all other life with their thorny lengths. Yet he continued on, weaving around the many obstacles on the road, his entire focus fixated on the dark tower that ahead. After another hour of marching, the Grey Wizard suddenly felt a great shadow looming before him. An intangible aura of fear and darkness blanketed the woods before, filling all beings with an unreasoning terror.

Summoning his strength of will from deep within, Gandalf overcame the fear that would have sent all but the strongest-willed of beings fleeing from the woods in terror. Pushing forward with his staff in hand, Gandalf pushed aside a thick curtain of vines and strode forward and suddenly he could see it.

The stunted trees and dark vines fell away to reveal a sharply sloping hill upon which no trees grew. The barren hill was crowned by a great dark tower with a squat base that narrowed as it rose, becoming a tall tower twelve stories high. The lower levels were old and decrepit, with shattered windows and crumbling walls everywhere, the dark thorny vines strangling it all. But the upper levels were remarkably free of decay, the dark stone walls unblemished by time and care.

"Dol Guldur," Gandalf whispered to himself, "The Hill of Sorcery."

He was about to enter the vast clearing when his keen eyes spotted movement at the summit of the hill. Looking closely, he was able to make out several companies of dark figures, scurrying around the main doors of the tower. The figures were clustered together, as if receiving orders from a leader. Then they suddenly broke off into small groups and began to descend the hill, heading for the surrounding woods.

Gandalf's eyes narrowed and he followed the movements very closely, then grew alarmed as one of the parties scurried directly towards his position at the edge of the forest. They were approaching quickly, and Gandalf hastily dug into his haversack and withdrew the grey cloak that had been woven for him by Galadriel. Spreading the cloak out, Gandalf hurriedly threw it over his shoulders and pulled the cowl over his head. Nothing seemed to happen, but then the Grey Wizard looked down only to see that his body was completely invisible! The Elven-Cloak, woven by Galadriel herself had changed in hue and colour to blend in with the surrounding forest completely. Gandalf was effectively invisible to all who would gaze upon him with mortal eyes, for all they would see was the scenery around him.

Not a moment too soon. The dark figures came charging into the small clearing where Gandalf had been lurking, and the Grey Wizard could clearly see that they were Orcs. Most were short and stocky with greying skin, yellowing teeth and scarlet eyes, but one of them was tall and fierce, with black skin and a powerful build. Gandalf's eyes widened in surprise as he recognized the tall Orc as the same one that had led the assault against him on the borders of Lothlorien two months ago.

The Black Orc was clearly in command of this group as he had been with the warg-riders, and he was barking commands in what Gandalf recognized as the Black Speech of Mordor, developed by Sauron himself Ages ago, to better communicate with his servants. That the Orcs of Dol Guldur were using Sauron's language only increased Gandalf's suspicions that the Necromancer was really the Dark Lord in disguise.

The foul servants of Darkness were searching the clearing vigorously, their angry red eyes darting everywhere while their deformed noses sniffed the air, searching for the scent of any enemies.

The Black Commander was standing in the center of the clearing, his bright red eyes sweeping over the stunted trees, passing Gandalf's position several times. But just as in Lothlorien, the Orc's quarry was concealed from sight by a power that was beyond the ken of any by one, the Orcs returned to their leader in the center, shaking their heads in failure.

"Lat fooluk!" the Black Commander roared in fury, "Ul zot-kri liwo puniukh lat!"

One of the Orcs hissed an angry reply, " _Grozug_ fooluk."

Gandalf's eyes narrowed, he had found a key to the Black Speech in a mouldering archive in Minas Tirith several hundred years ago and he knew that the smaller Orc had just addressed the Black Commander –Grozug-in a very insulting manner.

The other Orcs recoiled in shock and backed away hesitantly, clearly afraid of their leader's wrath. Their fear was justified as Grozug's crimson eyes burned with a great hatred and he lunged forward in a brutally fast movement, seizing the offending Orc by the collar and pulling him forward. The rebellious soldier hissed and spat in fury, trying to bring his curved scimitar up to defend himself. Grozug's huge hand shot out and enveloped the Orc's arm in a vise-like grip and with a single swift motion, he snapped the limb in two.

The offending Orc howled in pain and Grozug dropped the creature to the forest floor with a loud thud. Turning to the others, Grozug shouted again, "Kurrauz ve ul avowas!"

The Orcs scurried out of the clearing, heading back to the tower with haste. Grozug strode towards the edge of the clearing and followed them closely, not sparing a single glance for the twitching Orc on the ground. Gandalf gazed at the injured Orc with a hint of pity in his blue eyes. While Orc were foul creatures that knew only malice and rage, they had not always been that way. In the First Age of the Sun, the first Dark Lord Morgoth Bauglir had taken many Elves captive and had tortured and mutilated them until they became the first Orcs.

With those thoughts in mind, Gandalf remained still and watched the injured Orc slowly rise from the dark soil in the clearing. The Orc stumbled out of the clearing and began to head up the hill towards the old fortress. After a moment, Gandalf stepped out the trees slowly, taking care to avoid the thorns in the clearing, strongly aware of Galadriel's warning regarding the properties of the Elven-Cloak.

Gandalf made his way up the bald hill, keeping a close-yet safe distance between himself and the injured Orc. The Grey Wizard moved slowly and cautiously and his keen eyes followed the Orc as the creature neared the base of the tower. At this distance Gandalf could see the ruined walls and shattered windows of the fortress. As he surveyed the foundations of the Necromancer's stronghold, Gandalf remembered that Amon Lanc had once been the capital of the Woodland Realm. Thranduil had moved the capital North after his father Oropher had been killed in the Battle of the Dagorlad in the War of the Last Alliance. Without occupants, the once-great palace of Oropher had decayed and fallen into ruin until the Necromancer had taken up occupation a thousand years later. From what Gandalf could see, the Necromancer had taken the existing structure and had added to it, raising his tower upon the foundations of Oropher's palace.

Gandalf was so lost in his recollections that he nearly lost track of the Orc and only just managed to see it disappear through a window that had fallen into such ruin that the stone beneath it had crumbled away, leaving a man-size gap in the fortress wall. Quickening his pace, Gandalf reached the opening and abruptly paused. The dark presence that suffused the entire clearing was pushing against him, the terror pressing against his will. Summoning his inner strength again, Gandalf shook off the dark presence that was falling over him and strode through the ruined window and into Dol Guldur.


	6. The Dread of Dol Guldur

**The Dread of Dol Guldur**

Stepping through the ruined gap, Gandalf the Grey set foot inside the walls of Dol Guldur. His Elven-Cloak was still raised over his head and the grey cloth shimmered imperceptibly as it took on the color of the weathered stone walls that made up the interior of the Necromancer's fortress. Gandalf glanced around the ruined corridor, seeing no hide or hair of the Orc that had unknowingly led him into the walls of the fortress. Suddenly, he heard a loud squeal of pain to his left and turned towards the source of the noise immediately.

As he moved down the decaying halls of Dol Guldur, Gandalf's gaze darted over the crumbling walls and cracked floor, taking in every detail he could. The hallways had once been grand corridors, made of smooth marble, much like Thranduil's palace in North Mirkwood. But two millennia of neglect had cause the once-white marble to grow dark with leaves, dirt and filth that painted the stone floors an obscene dark color.

The walls that had once boasted gorgeous tapestries and breathtaking murals had been scarred not only by time and age but had been scrawled over with profane graffiti, written in the foul tongues of the Orcs. Beneath his cloak, Gandalf wrinkled his nose at the decay that suffused the very walls of the structure and quickened his pace, trying to catch up with the Orc that was his unsuspecting guide.

Rounding another corner, Gandalf had to weave around a large cluster of vines that had actually grown out from beneath the floor, splitting the marred marble and stretching to the ceiling where they broke the stone and wound into the upper levels of the tower. As he came around the bend, Gandalf found himself staring at a long passageway that ran deep into the heart of the ancient palace. Darkness shrouded the long hallway with the only light coming from small cracks in the ceiling and walls that allowed faint rays of sunlight to shine through.

Gandalf spied movement far down the corridor and through a patch of light shining through a crumbling wall, he saw a single grey-skinned Orc shambling away, one of its arms held precariously against its side by the other. Fixing his gaze on the sight of his unwitting guide, Gandalf hastened his pace, not wanting to lose track of the Orc again.

The injured Orc scurried down the long hallway for a time before turning right into a short passageway that led into a large ruined hall. Gandalf followed him into the vaulted chamber from whose crumbling ceiling hung a massive crystal chandelier. The great lamp had no doubt been used to provide light to the entire hall when the Elves had still dwelt there. But now the crystal was tarnished and filthy, bearing a thick layer of dust. The golden chain that fastened the fixture to the ceiling was bent and blemished by age and Gandalf was concerned that the entire chandelier could come crashing down on the tarnished marble floor at the slightest disruption.

Gazing ahead, Gandalf saw the Orc stumbling to the far wall of the chamber where the King had likely had his throne. The dais and throne were completely gone however, and in its place lay a gaping hole that led sharply downwards. Narrowing his eyes at the sight, Gandalf waited until the Orc had passed through the mouth of the tunnel and then followed him quickly, stepping over the lip of the passageway and descending beneath the surface of Dol Guldur.

The tunnel had been carved from the living rock of the hill upon which Dol Guldur sat and was completely unpaved with a dirt floor and dark rock and soil lining the walls.

Gandalf followed the Orc for a good quarter of an hour, descending deep beneath the Earth and leaving the Tower of the Necromancer behind. Just as he was starting to think that he was being led far astray from his purpose and that he might be better served by turning back and searching the Tower, Gandalf saw a bright orange glow coming from up ahead. Hurrying forward, he saw that the tunnel grew wider and suddenly opened up on a vast cavern.

Entering the cave cautiously, Gandalf looked down into the great pit and was shocked at what he saw. The wide bowl of the cave floor was filled with over thousands of Orcs! The foul creatures were milling about the cavern, occupied with a myriad of different tasks. Some were busy training, their savage swords clashing with each other. Others were busy at forges that lay at the far end of the cavern, pounding molten metal into fierce scimitars and shields. Yet many more were busy assembling armor and harnessing wargs, who were penned up in several large enclosures against the curving cave walls.

Gandalf was so fixated on the operations of the Orcs in the cavern; he almost failed to notice the injured Orc scurrying down a side tunnel, away from the main cavern. Taking one last glance at the vast pit and committing as many details he could to memory, Gandalf turned away and hurried after his unwitting guide.

The tunnel turned right from the mouth of the large cavern and swiftly grew smaller in diameter, the earthen walls closing in until Gandalf had to stoop down to keep from scraping his head on the rock ceiling. Crouching down to avoid a nasty bruise on his head, Gandalf hurried along the length of the tunnel, hot on the wounded Orc's heels.

After several minutes, the tunnel widened again, opening up on a significantly smaller cavern. This cavern was clearly unnatural and had been carved from the living rock by the crude delving of the Orcs. The ceiling stretched up a mere ten feet, ending in solid dark stone from which hung several large lamps that lit the cavern with a harsh red glow. In the crimson light, Gandalf could see dozens of makeshift beds lying along the walls of the grotto, upon which lay Orcs in various states of injury. The foul creatures were hissing and growling at the cadres of female Orcs that were tending to their injuries with rank-smelling salves.

The Orc that Gandalf had been following shambled over to one of the female Orcs and squealed a few words in the Black Speech. The healer screeched harsh words at the maimed Orc and directed him forcefully to one of the empty beds. From beneath the concealing fabric of his enchanted cloak, Gandalf observed the healers for several moments, then turned away and headed back the way he had come.

The cavern floor was uneven and covered in small jagged outcroppings, causing Gandalf to move very carefully back down the hallway. Stepping cautiously, the Grey Wizard moved back the way he had come, with the harsh orange light of the main cavern coming into view again. As drew closer, Gandalf heard a loud harsh voice echoing throughout the vast underground hall. The voice sounded fervent and commanding and just a little bit familiar. Furrowing his brow in concentration Gandalf, hurried as fast as he could and a few moments later, exited the narrow tunnel and came out onto the wide landing that looked out over the main cavern.

Hurrying to the lip of the earthen platform, Gandalf looked down at the vast cavern floor and his mouth fell open in shock. A hundred feet below, on the flat surface of the cavern stood rank upon rank of armored and armed Orcs. The thousands of Orcs that had been milling about the chamber had been organized into efficient and disciplined ranks and were being exhorted by a figure at the very front of the chamber, standing almost directly beneath Gandalf.

"Ash guz nagfa usgza!" The tall Orc bellowed, his sharp yellow teeth gleaming in the cavern's fiery glow. His face contorted in a ferocious scowl and he continued to bellow commands at the army assembled before him. Focusing his aged blue eyes on the commander, Gandalf recognized him as Grozug, the mighty Orc Commander that had nearly caught Gandalf outside Lothlorien and again before Dol Guldur.

Grozug began to gesture to the wide pathway that led out of the great pit and shouted a command in the Black Speech.

"Goxuhh!"

The sizeable army howled in anticipation and began to march out of the pit in neat disciplined order, an action that was quite rare for such bestial creatures. They came charging up the pathway swiftly, their crude armor and weapons of iron banging together with a metallic clank and filling the cavern with a great cacophony.

Gandalf turned his gaze to the wide path that lay mere metered from him and realized in shock that the Orcs were going to be charging right through his current position! Moving as quickly as he could, Gandalf hurried down the earthen corridor, making for the exit and the surface above. The clanging grew louder and Gandalf picked up his pace, hastening for the exit, his feet negotiating the craggy rocks on the floor with difficulty. Hurrying as best he could, Gandalf stepped around a protruding stalagmite and suddenly heard a loud ripping sound echo throughout the cavern!

Betrayed by his haste, Gandalf's Elvish cloak of concealment had caught on the sharp stalagmite and had torn at the ankle, shearing the delicate threads that kept the cloth together and ending the concealment swiftly and revealing the Grey Wizard for all to see.

At that very moment, the front runners of the Orc army came charging up the ramp and onto the earthen path that led to the surface. It took them a moment to spot Gandalf in the midst of their impending battle rage. But once they did, they roared in renewed fury and charged straight for the uncloaked wizard, all of them howling one word.

"Intruder!"

Gasping in astonishment and panic, Gandalf threw aside the torn remains of his cloak and ran for his life.

The Grey Wizard raced down the wide corridor, his staff clutched in his right hand, swinging wildly as he made for the exit with all haste. Hundreds of Orcs were charging after him, brandishing razor-sharp swords, their yellowing teeth bared in anticipation of the bloodshed to come.

Gandalf raced on, unable to spare even a moment to glance back at his pursuers. His keen ears could hear the growls and thundering footsteps drawing closer and closer however, and when they grew within close earshot, Gandalf risked turning his head back for a moment while continuing his swift pace.

The Grey Wizard had managed to outstrip many of the lesser Orcs in the army, their loping erratic gait was no match for the Istar's long purposeful strides. But at the head of the army, a mere ten feet behind Gandalf was a full score of black-skinned Orcs. With their towering frames and jet-black skin, they were of the same breed as those Orcs that had assailed Gandalf at the borders of Lothlorien.

Bellowing in rage, the Black Orcs were rampaging down the corridor, drawing ever closer to the fleeing Grey Wizard. Gandalf gritted his teeth at the doom that was swiftly approaching him. Tightening his grip on his staff, the Grey Wizard pondered his choices for a few seconds while still running. While he might be able to prevail against twenty mighty Orcs, the battle would be incredibly taxing and it would leave him easy prey for the mob of lesser Orcs that was still approaching.

"Flight it is, then," Gandalf muttered to himself, and he called on the hidden might of his Ring of Power. The fiery strength of Narya came to life with an almost imperceptible flash on Gandalf's right hand and he suddenly felt all his weariness swept away. For the second time that day, Gandalf felt the power of the Red Ring strengthen his body, filling his mortal frame with renewed strength. Taking a deep breath, Gandalf broke into a full-on dash, running across the stretch of rocky path with speed that exceeded that of the fastest mortal on Middle-Earth. He heard furious roars of astonishment from the chasing Orcs as they struggled to catch their quarry and failed, for the Grey Wizard was strengthened by a power far beyond their ken.

Racing up the pathway, Gandalf saw the great gap that was the tunnel exit and with a final effort, he leapt through the hole and stumbled into the ruined chamber that had once been Oropher's audience hall.

Halting his maddened pace, Gandalf staggered towards a pitted and crumbling column of marble that once supported the vaulted ceiling of the hall, leaning his exhausted frame against the makeshift support. Taking several deep breaths, the Grey Wizard tried to recover his strength after his exhausting sprint.

Even as Gandalf was catching his breath, he heard the harsh growls and roars of the pursuing Orcs. Cursing at the relentlessness of his hunters, Gandalf took up his staff and prepared to run again, only to collapse face-first on the cracked marble floor. Gasping in shock, the Grey Wizard planted his staff firmly on the floor and staggered to his weary feet that had betrayed him in exhaustion.

Steadying himself on his feet, Gandalf began to hobble towards the broken doorway of the despoiled hall, desperate to make his exit before the Orcs arrived. He was perhaps halfway to the door when the growls grew louder. Glancing back, Gandalf saw the faint forms of Orcs approaching the jagged hole on the dais and he cast his gaze around the room in desperate thought. Suddenly his gaze latched onto the great crystal chandelier that swung precariously from the high ceiling and a thought came upon him.

Raising his staff, Gandalf aimed the crystal tip at the corroded chain that suspended the great candelabra from the ceiling and shouted a Word of Power. The crystal embedded in the head of the staff flashed a brilliant white that illuminated the entire chamber and a great jagged bolt of lightning sprang forth, arcing straight towards the rotting chain and destroying it utterly.

With its only support gone, the ancient chandelier fell from its perch like a stone into water, plummeting towards the cracked floor. Thrusting his staff forward, Gandalf shouted another Word and the falling chandelier flew forward in mid-fall, as if struck by a great invisible fist flying straight towards the gaping maw that led to the underground Orcs warrens.

At that very same moment, in the highest chamber of Dol Guldur, the black-robed figure of the Necromancer rose from his obsidian throne in a sudden motion. The sorcerer's eyes were ablaze with crimson light and his black-taloned hands were curled into vicious claws.

"There is an intruder!"

The Necromancer's voice echoed throughout the vast audience chamber in a harsh screech.

The half-dozen Black Orcs that stood guard by the throne room's main entrance sprang into action at once. Two of their number raced out of the throne room immediately to bring warning to the entire tower. The remaining four approached their master, concern and rage alight on their vicious faces.

"I sense his presence," the black sorcerer hissed, fear and fury mixing in his terrible voice.

The Orcs stared at their master silently, awaiting his commands.

"Alert all guards," the Necromancer seethed, "Scour the entire fortress! Find the intruder at once!"

The Orcs bowed their heads in acknowledgement swiftly and the Necromancer gazed at them with his burning eyes.

"And when you do find him…eviscerate his every limb and organ. Tear him apart until no trace of him remains!"

The Orcs roared in fury and charged out of the throne room, baying furiously for the intruder's blood!

A dozen stories below, the great crystal fixture crashed directly on the tunnel mouth, blocked all passage through it. Leaning in his staff in weariness, Gandalf allowed himself a triumphant grin. It would take the Orcs much time to devise a way to move the massive obstacle blocking their path. Raising his staff from the ground, the Grey Wizard pointed it at the upper portion of the tunnel that led down to the Orc warrens and spoke another Word of Power.

A great blue-green orb of fire sprang from the staff and struck the marble walls that surrounded the tunnel. With a great explosion they collapsed in on themselves, burying the entrance to the Orc warrens in even more rubble, ensuring that the foul beasts below would be unable to interfere with Gandalf's mission at all, for it would take them days of backbreaking labour to shift the many tonnes of rubble that now blocked the entrance to their warrens. Smiling in satisfaction, Gandalf turned away from the ruined hall and left the chamber to continue in his mission, knowing that his task had become all the more urgent.


	7. Liberation and Revolution

**Liberation and Revolution**

Gandalf the Grey hurried down the crumbling corridor that led away from the ruined audience chamber of Dol Guldur and neatly stepped over a large thick vine that was protruding from the cracked marble floor. Turning another corner, Gandalf continued to dash ahead, his wooden staff clutched firmly in his right hand and his Elven-sword safely in its sheath and affixed securely to his belt.

Rounding another corner, Gandalf picked up his pace as best he could, running ever further into the depths of Dol Guldur, his blue eyes darting all around, searching for any signs of a stairway that could take him up to the higher chambers where the greater evils lurked. Running down a long, narrow hallway, Gandalf suddenly spied a small gap in the wall, a jagged rend in the stone side of the hall. Trusting to his instincts which told him that the opening would lead him closer to his goal, Gandalf twisted his aged frame through the narrow defile and into the small chamber that lay beyond.

The room was pitch-black and Gandalf quickly ran his hand over the white crystal at the head of his staff and the stone began to glow brightly, illuminating the chamber in a bright light. In the illumination, Gandalf saw a narrow twisting staircase and allowed himself a small smile of triumph. Alighting upon the stairs, Gandalf began to take them two at a time, racing up the cracked stone blocks, painfully aware that he was running borrowed time. For the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur would have without a doubt sensed the two spells he had used to waylay his pursuit in the ruined halls below and the Necromancer would now be fully aware of Gandalf's presence in his stronghold.

The Grey Wizard knew that he only had so much time to explore the secrets of Dol Guldur before the Orcs found him and either slew him outright or subdued him enough to bring him before their master. Stretching out with all his senses, Gandalf probed the chambers that surrounded the stairs as he dashed up. On the first few levels he sensed merely the foul evil of Orcs and he heard their angry grunts through the walls.

However, after climbing for a quarter of an hour, Gandalf could hear faint moans through the mouldy walls. Halting his climb for a moment, he pressed his ear against the walls and listened closely.

"Omma quenha. Asune hila."

Withdrawing from the wall in shock, Gandalf leaned against the stone pillar around which the stairs wound and considered what he had just heard. The soft cries were in Sindarin and the light musical voices that uttered them were no doubt those of Elves.

Pondering this revelation for several moments, Gandalf considered what to do. Then he pressed his face as close to the wall as possible and whispered in Sindarin, using a portion of of his power to make sure the message carried itself through the walls to the intended recipient.

"Well met, friend."

There was no response for a long moment. Then one of the tortured voices replied.

"Who is there?"

Gandalf felt his spirits rise, "I am one who has had the honour of being named an Elf-Friend. My name is Mithrandir."

"Mithrandir!" The voice cried out in a low tone, "It cannot be. It cannot be. How came you to be in this foul place?"

"It is a long tale," Gandalf whispered, "But one that may end in gladness now that I have found you. Tell me, how many other prisoners are there with you?"

The Elf on the other side of the wall was silent for a long moment, and the only sounds Gandalf could hear were the soft drip of tepid water falling from the moulding stone stairway.

Then the voice replied, "There are perhaps a hundred of us imprisoned here, Mithrandir. Five score of Eldar."

Gandalf's brow furrowed as he considered this. His mission had been to discover the identity of the Necromancer, and in order to adhere to that mandate, logic dictated that he leave the prisoners be. But the Grey Wanderer did not always make decisions based on logic alone, for he had learned millennia ago that the best way to determine a course of action was to follow one's heart.

"I shall free you in moments," Gandalf intoned softly, "Move yourselves as far away from the wall as you can."

There were sounds of scuffling on the other side of the wall and after a few moments, the same voice cried out, "We are far away as we can be."

"Stand back," Gandalf commanded, and stretching up to his full height, he extended his staff towards to the mouldering stone wall and gathering all his power, he shouted a mighty Word!

The crystal head of the staff flashed with an intense blue light and then a great blue sphere of flame shot from the tip of the staff and struck the ancient stone head-on, exploding upon impact! The sheer force of the explosion shattered the mouldering stone like a great gale striking a grass hut. Shards of stone flew everywhere, shaking the entire staircase upon which Gandalf stood, and sending great quantities of dust cascading from the rattled ceiling. Coughing into his sleeve, Gandalf waved his staff left and right in an attempt to clear the cloud of debris that was blocking his view.

As the dust settled, Gandalf found himself looking into a small, dank prison cell, perhaps ten feet tall and half as wide. Peering inside, the Grey Wizard spotted two emaciated figures pressed against the far side of the cell. As he looked closer, Gandalf realized that the figures were both Elves, one male and one female. Grinning briefly, the Istar stepped into the cell, and walked over to the cowering duo.

Bending down to look them in the eye, Gandalf appraised their situation and horror crept over him. Both prisoners were clad in dull greying rags that served little more than to cover their most private organs. The male Elf was dark-haired and blue-eyes, though his hair was a great deal darker than any Elf Gandalf had seen in the past, no doubt due to the filthy conditions he had been forced to inhabit. The female was pale-skinned with grey eyes that were dull with despair. Silently cursing the Necromancer for his evil deeds, Gandalf called on the hidden warmth of Narya and began to project rays of warmth and hope into the hearts of the duo.

The male Elf blinked his eyes a few times and a partial smile came to his scarred and wan face. Reaching out to his companion, he helped her to her feet and the dull look despair began to fade from her eyes as well.

"Mae govannen," Gandalf said to the pair and the male looked back at the wizard with great gratitude.

"Mae govannen, Mithrandir," the Elf said, "My name is Navari of the Woodland Realm and this is Tulen also of the Woodland Realm."

Gandalf frowned at this, "Captain Navari? Prince Legolas said that you and your entire garrison were slain at the Tower of Serien."

Navari's eyes widened, "So they did send a party to reinforce us!"

"Aye, they did," Gandalf assented, "But it was too late, for they found the watchtower to be deserted. They though the Orcs had killed you and your men. They had no idea you had all been taken prisoner."

"Not just us," Navari said, "There are dozens of cells alongside ours, each holding two Eldar. But praise the Valar, you have come to save us!"

Gandalf shook his head, "Nay, friend. My mission was not to free prisoners. But I could not stand by and do nothing."

He gestured for the two Elves to move away from the doorway and once they had, he thrust this staff forward and whispered a Word of Power. A brilliant white spark sprang from the staff's head and struck the solid-looking iron lock which glowed for a moment and then unlocked itself, swinging open with a loud rusting creak.

Gandalf hurried into the corridor, followed by Navari and Tulen. The hallway was dank and dark, and as Navari had said, lined on both sides by prison cells.

"Are all prisoners Elves?" Gandalf asked Navari.

"Aye," the Captain assented, "The Necromancer seems to be bent on capturing us for his experiments."

Gandalf felt a shiver go down his spine at the implications of that statement, and he turned to the cell beside Navari's. Peering in through the small barred window on the cell door, The Istar saw another pair of Elves in similar condition to the two he'd just freed. Readying his staff, he whispered the same Word and with a bright flash of light, the cell door swung open with s deafening creak. The two prisoners within looked up at their rescuer with faces emblazoned with defeat and despair and Gandalf was obliged to call on Narya once again to bolster their spirits.

Then Captain Navari entered the cell and spoke quick words of the pair in Sindarin. Between Navari's encouragement and Gandalf's firing of their spirits, the two prisoners quickly got to their feet and hurried out of the cell.

Just as they were stepping into the hallway, a series of loud footsteps began to sound throughout the cell block and Gandalf spun on his heel towards the source of the noise. Within a few seconds, a small party of Orcs came tromping into the hallway off a small turning that likely led to a guardroom. The Orcs entered the cell block and promptly caught sight of the Wizard and the Elves and were utterly stunned for a moment, their red eyes widening in shock.

Gandalf moved with incredible speed towards the startled jailers, drawing Gailcrist from his scabbard with his left hand and hefting his staff with his right. The Orcs barely had a chance to react before the Wizard was on them, striking out with both staff and sword. Swinging Gailcrist in a swift arc, Gandalf disembowelled the first Orc while striking the second one right on the forehead with his staff, sending the foul creature stumbling backwards, completely knocked out. The remaining two Orcs unsheathed their curved savage blades and struck at Gandalf, but the a Grey Wizard deftly avoided their strikes and unleashed a lightning-fast blade stroke that decapitated the third Orc.

Growling in fury and fear, the last Orc spun away and began scurrying for the exit with all haste, recognizing that this was one foe he could not defeat by himself. He made it within a foot of the archway when Gandalf hurled Gailcrist with all his strength directly at the fleeing Orc's back. The Elven-blade pierced the Orc's leather armour with ease and flew straight through his heart, dropping him to the cracked stone floor in moments.

Gandalf strode over to the fallen Orc to retrieve his blade and was joined by Navari who crouched down next to the Orc and fished a thick iron ring laden with keys off his person. As Gandalf was pulling Gailcrist out of the Orc's back, Navari tossed the keys to the second male Elf that Gandalf had freed.

"Free our comrades, Geilen," Navari commanded and the freed Elf quickly complied, going to the nearest cell and testing each key until he found the one that could open the door.

"The rest of you, arm yourselves," Navari ordered, snatching up the fallen Orc's curved scimitar and sheath and buckling it to his ragged clothing.

The two female Elves mirrored his actions, snatching up the weapons of the Orcs Gandalf had slain. As they did so, the Grey Wizard moved to join Geilen in opening the remaining cell doors. Between the keys and Gandalf's magic, the doors were all opened within a quarter of an hour. A second party of Orcs had entered the prison area during that time, but had been quickly dispatched by Navari and his liberated soldiers. Soon all the prisoners were freed and nearly a hundred Elves were clustered about in the narrow corridor, many of them now armed with the weapons of their former captors.

"Do you know how to exit this place?" Gandalf asked Navari in a low voice.

"Aye," the ragged captain replied.

"That door there leads to a hallway that will carry us to the main landing for this level of the tower," he said, pointing to a thick, sealed door at the far end of the cell block.

"From what I can remember of my initial captivity, we are in the seventh level of the tower. Other prisoners who have been here longer say that there are garrisons of Orcs on the third and fourth levels and that the levels above us contain the private workshops and lairs of the Necromancer himself."

Gandalf nodded slowly, taking in this new information and deciding how best to proceed. After a few moments, he looked at Navari, "The time has come for you and your people to leave this fortress. The stairwell that I took to get here leads down the main level of the tower. I suspect that it was built to allow the Necromancer's servants a secret way in and out of the tower."

His blue eyes narrowed and his voice grew stern with command, "Take your people down the stairwell and out of this fortress, Captain. Get as far away from this tower as you can."

Navari frowned, "I would agree with you, Mithrandir. But my heart forbids me from leaving you to explore the depths of this tower alone. There are hundreds of great Black Orcs that serve the Necromancer as the garrison of this tower."

Gandalf paused for a long moment, deep in thought.

"You and your people may be able to assist me in my mission," he allowed, "But the risk to you all would be very great, and there would be a high chance that none of you may survive. I strongly urge you to take the secret stair down to the ground and leave Dol Guldur at once."

Navari replied by addressing the entire company of Elves.

"Everyone! Mithrandir has come here to help put an end to the Necromancer. He needs our help to do this. Shall we fight against this foul sorcerer who has held us captive for months, nay for some, years!"

Every Elf in the hallway looked at Navari for several moments and then replied, shouting "Aye, aye! We fight with Mithrandir!"

A smile split Navari's wasted features and he looked at Gandalf with confidence, "There you have it Mithrandir. My soldiers and I are with you."

Bowing his head in gratitude, Gandalf returned Navari's smile, "I am always amazed at the courage and strength of the Firstborn," he said.

"I endeavour to enter the uppermost levels of the Necromancer's lair. To discover his darkest secrets and peer behind his mask to see exactly who he is. In order for me to proceed unopposed to these high chambers, I shall need a distraction."

Navari nodded, "We shall provide, Mithrandir. It takes more than mere captivity to break the will of the Eldar. We are mighty in body and spirit, and the arms of our foes will serve us for now."

Nodding at the Captain, Gandalf wove his way through the throng and made it to the far door. Examining the sealed barrier for a few moments, he then drew his staff back and then struck the door with the hallowed rod as hard as he could, muttering a Word under his breath. There was a loud crack of dispossessed air and then the great metal door unlocked with a series of clicks and swung open, revealing a wide, dark corridor beyond.

In the highest chamber of Dol Guldur, a screech of pure fury resonated against the dark basalt walls.

"He is right here. Inside the tower!"

The Necromancer had risen off his throne, his scarlet eyes blazing from beneath the thick cowl of the thick, richly embroidered robe that shrouded his entire form in shadow. The Orcs lieutenants standing before him cringed in fear, their red eyes wide with terror.

The Sorcerer of Dol Guldur advanced on his terrified minions, his skeletal frame towering over them by a good seven feet.

"There is an intruder in my very stronghold," he hissed, his voice sounding like the deadly rasping of jungle viper from Far Harad.

"He is casting mighty spells and probing around my most secret chambers. And you have found no trace of him!"

The tallest of the Orcs managed to stand up, "Forgive us, Master. There was a great cave-in at the warrens entrance. Most of our soldiers are trapped underground. We've mustered those that are in the tower and searched the lower levels thoroughly but found nothing at all. It seemed that the intruder had fled."

"He is here!" The Necromancer screeched, his coal-black hands curling into sharp claws.

"I feel his presence with every spell he casts. Gather every minion that can be found and scour the fortress from the lowest pit to the uppermost pinnacle. Do not cease your search until this intruder has been found and definitively slain!"

The Orcs leapt into action and raced for the door to execute their Master's command. Even as they neared the two massive slabs of basalt that served as the doors to the Necromancer's inner sanctum, a great Black Orc captain came charging through them, hurrying past the other Orcs and coming straight before the Necromancer.

The dark sorcerer hissed at the Black Orc, "Luzguk! What is it?"

"The prisoners on the seventh level, Master. They have escaped!"

For a moment the throne room was completely silent, the Orcs all staring at their master, frighteningly waiting for his reaction.

"Who is leading them?" the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur asked in a deathly quiet tone.

"An old man, Master," Lugzuk replied, his whole body trembling with a terrified palsy, "He wields an Elven-blade, bright as daylight it is!"

"An old man? Pah."

The Necromancer said in thought to himself, "But wielding a cursed Elvish weapon?"

"Master, the prisoners have broken free and are armed with our own weapons. They are driving for the upper levels. Perhaps heading straight here!"

The Necromancer's eyes blazed brighter and he glared at his minions, "Summon every soldier in the tower," he hissed, "Quell this rebellion at once. Slay all the prisoners. They shall pay with their lives for this defiance!"

The Orc captains nodded and fled the room at once, leaving the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur alone with his thoughts.

Moving with slow footsteps, the Necromancer returned to his dark obsidian throne, the perpetual shadow that surrounded his body flickering and swirling about him. After long moments of contemplation the Sorcerer raised a clawed hand and whispered into the still air of the throne room.

"Khamul."

The word echoed faintly throughout the vast chamber and for many minutes, nothing happened. Then a rich tapestry that hung against the right wall, depicting a hideous black serpent upon a sea of red rose up of its own will, revealing a hidden recess beneath it. A indistinct shadow appeared in the hidden hallway and percolated itself into the main chamber. As it drew further into the torch-light of the throne room, the shadow's features became visible.

Seven full feet in length, the figure was robed head to toe in coarse black robes of heavy cloth. Beneath the concealing robes lay sable-tinted armour of steel in which the figure was completely clad in, from gauntleted fists to steel-shod feet. Upon the figure's cloaked head rested a steel crown of a unique make, with sharp metal spikes that twisted downward into twin horns, very reminiscent of a savage ram. In the shadow's right hand was clutched a long, sharp sword with harsh-looking runes carved into it.

The robed figure came before the Necromancer and inclined its head in a bow of obeisance.

"You summoned me, Master."

"Yes," the Necromancer hissed, beckoning the figure closer.

"There is a great enemy within our walls, Khamul."

Khamul-for that was his name-leaned closer, paying great attention.

"I am not yet prepared to reveal myself openly," the Necromancer continued, his harsh voice rasping like death itself.

"I command you to go forth and slay this intruder at once."

Khamul bowed again, "It shall be done, My Lord."

"Beware, my servant," the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur warned, "I sense a great power within this enemy. You shall require great power as well in order to slay him outright."

The Necromancer thrust forward his right hand and extended a single taloned digit, pointing directly at Khamul. Upon the black talon lay an odd-looking ring, made of gold and silver with a great jewel of scarlet set in it. The Ring floated through the air, guided by the Necromancer's will and flew across the throne room to hover in front of Khamul.

The black-robed figure extended his left gauntlet and raised his index finger, at which point the Ring floated towards his hand and slid right into the outstretched finger. Once the Ring was in place, the Necromancer bent forward, his eyes burning a fierce scarlet.

"Take up thy Ring of Power once more, my servant," the Necromancer hissed and he stretched his right hand out again, curling his fingers into a claw which began to burn with a red-hot glow.

The scarlet gem on Khamul's Ring shone brightly in response and a dark aura began to radiate around it. The darkness spread to envelope Khamul's entire body and the robed being seemed to grow in stature and power.

"Go now!" the Necromancer commanded, "Find this intruder and execute him!"

Bowing once more, Khamul spun on his heel and departed the throne room, his Ring of Power burning brightly on his left hand. Behind him, the Necromancer lay back on his throne and watched his servant depart with burning hot eyes, his mind pondering many plans and possibilities.


	8. The Wraith and the Wizard

**The Wraith and the Wizard**

"Fight!" Gandalf bellowed, leading a charge of Elves up the main staircase of Dol Guldur. A dozen Elves charged up the stone steps with him, slashing and cutting into the dark-skinned Orcs that were charging at the them from the upper level.

Spinning and slashing at the chest of one Orc, Gandalf abruptly ducked, dodging a close strike from another Orc scimitar, and then came, striking Gailcrist. Parrying the first blow with his shining Elven-blade, Gandalf struck the Orc's flank with his staff, causing the foul creature to drop his sword and howl in pain. Bringing his blade up in a swift arc, Gandalf decapitated the screaming Orc.

All around him, the freed Elves were attacking with great fury, slashing and hacking at their enemies with no abandon. Within minutes all the Orcs on the staircase were slain and Gandalf and the twenty Elves who'd accompanied him to the eight level of Dol Guldur finished climbing the stairs and alighted on the ninth level landing.

Even as they stepped onto the landing, armed groups of Orcs came pouring out of multiple hallways, all in all nearly two score.

"Leave these wretches to us, Mithrandir!" Captain Navari shouted at Gandalf, "You have a more pressing errand to attend to!"

Gandalf knew that Navari was correct, but he was hesitant to leave the Elves to battle the Orcs, having just been liberated from captivity as they were. Then he saw Navari lead his soldiers into combat and brutally slay a quarter of the Orcs within a minute and he knew that his presence was not needed.

"Fight on, my friends," Gandalf shouted, sending a burst of additional courage and resolve into all the Elves with Narya, "Fight in the name of Lord Manwe and Lady Varda!"

With that, the Istar dashed up the next set of stairs, heading for the very summit of Dol Guldur. Navari had told him that the Necromancer's throne room was on the highest level, where the Orcs rarely ventured, for fear of their dark master.

The Grey Wizard found no serious opposition on the tenth or eleventh levels, and at length he came out on the twelfth level of Dol Guldur. Stepping onto the smooth black stone floor, Gandalf strode across the main landing, his bright blue eyes darting around, taking in his surroundings carefully.

The decay that was visible on the lower levels of the fortress was completely absent on this floor. Black basalt lined the floors and the walls, without so much as a scratch visible on the surface. A number of high archways led off from the landing into the inner sanctums of the Necromancer. Glancing around, Gandalf's gaze settled on the largest of the archways that stood directly in front of him. As a Maia in Valinor, Olorin had met Mairon on multiple occasions, and even in those early days the Maia that would become Sauron had possessed a taste for grandeur. With this knowledge in mind, Gandalf dashed forward and headed straight for the great archway that loomed directly in front of him.

As he crossed the threshold into the antechamber, Gandalf felt a chill run through his mortal body. The aura of fear that suffused Dol Guldur's very walls was strongest in the chambers before him. So strong was it, that any mortal man with a mortal spirit would have fallen to the floor in terror and been unable to go on. It was only by the strength of his immortal spirit that dwelt within his mortal frame that Gandalf was able to persevere and continue on ahead, keeping a tight grip on his staff and calling on Narya to bolster his courage.

Crossing the antechamber, Gandalf passed through several rooms containing ancient tattered books and cages containing mutated animal-men. No doubt some of the "experiments" of the Necromancer that Navari had been referring to. Gandalf grew more and more certain that the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur was the Dark Lord returned, for Sauron had always had an interest in such abominations, starting from his tenure as lieutenant to the first Dark Lord, Morgoth Bauglir. But the only way for Gandalf to be certain of his suspicions was to stand face to face with the Necromancer and see exactly who he really was. For Gandalf remembered Mairon's aura very well from their time as Maiar spirits in Valinor, and if the Necromancer was Sauron, Gandalf would be able to tell at once.

Passing through another archway, Gandalf entered a long vaulted chamber that was lined with burning braziers on both sides and led up to a tall altar at the far end. The Grey Wizard drew closer to the altar, noting the strange red symbols that had been carved into the gleaming black stone. He was about to reach out and touch the blasphemous structure when a shrill shriek echoed throughout the room.

Whipping around to face the source of the noise, Gandalf spun towards the archway form where he'd entered and saw a towering black figure standing just inside the chamber.

Clad from head to toe in coarse black robes, the figure's hands were gloved in dark mail and its feet were shod in rough iron boots. A black hood was raised over its head, upon which rested a cruel-looking helm reminiscent of a ram's head. But the space beneath its helm where its head should have been was completely empty, a black void of nothingness.

A crushingly powerful aura of terror was emanating from the figure and was pressing down on Gandalf, eating away at his resolve. Raising a wicked-looking sword in its right hand, the figure let out a terrible, bone-chilling screech, causing Gandalf's mortal frame shiver in fear.

The wizard shook with fear and cursing the frailty of his mortal body, he slammed his staff onto the smooth basalt floor and called on the power of his divine spirit to chase the crippling fear from his body. Gazing at the black-robed being with his keen blue eyes, Gandalf realized that this being was without a doubt the Necromancer. The great aura of fear and power that was ever-present in Dol Guldur was generated by this creature.

"Necromancer!" Gandalf shouted, "I command you to depart these lands at once!"

The towering figure hissed in fury and began to glide across the smooth floor without a sound, approaching Gandalf's position.

"Old fool!" It hissed in fury, "Who art thou to command me? Thou aged body has addled thy wits. I shall slay thy decrepit form here and now!"

With another screech of fury, the wraith shot across the room, it's wicked sword moving with lightning speed, swinging straight for Gandalf's neck. Calling on his reserves of energy, the Grey Wizard swung Gailcrist up to block. The Elven-blade blocked the savage blow but just barely, the impact sending jolts of pain into Gandalf's aged shoulders. Grimacing at the terrible strength behind the blow, Gandalf suddenly pivoted and swung his blade underneath his enemy's sword to strike at the dark robes that concealed its true form.

Screeching in surprise, the wraith leapt away in a swirl of robes and Gandalf's blow went wide. Taking a few steps back to better assess the situation, Gandalf cast his gaze upon his enemy with fresh eyes, taking in the dark mail, black robes and cruel helm. As he pondered the figure's attire and powerful aura, he suddenly realized what kind of creature the Necromancer was.

For he was not Sauron, that much Gandalf was already certain of. As mighty as this wraith-like figure was, his power was not on the level of a Maiar spirit. And as Gandalf studied the Necromancer's aura, he determined that this wraith, whoever he was, was not Sauron the Abhorred.

The Necromancer began to glide forward again, it's dark robes swirling around it, readying it's dark power for another attack when Gandalf suddenly noticed a curious ring on its left hand. Made of silver and gold with a blood-red gem set in it, the Ring looked a bit similar to Narya and resonated with a mighty power. A flash of recognition ran through Gandalf's mind and he suddenly knew exactly what he was facing.

Elrond of Rivendell had told Gandalf tales of the War of the Last Alliance once, and he had given detailed descriptions of Sauron's greatest servants, the Nine Ringwraiths that had once been Men, Sauron's Nazgul. This creature's black robes, terror-inducing aura and wicked-looking sword left no doubt in Gandalf's mind that his opponent was a Nazgul, one of the Nine Ringwraiths of Sauron.

Leaping aside to avoid a deadly blow from the Necromancer, Gandalf countered with an equally mighty blow of his own, which the wraith deflected with a stolid parry. As Gandalf withdrew his blade and began to circle the wraith looking for an opening, he realized that he had been wrong about the Necromancer the entire time. Utterly convinced that the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur was Sauron returned, Gandalf had peddled his theory to all who would listen, but in fact he had been completely mistaken. Gandalf had been wrong and Thranduil had been right. The Elven-King had hypothesized that the Necromancer was merely a Nazgul, and lo and behold, he had been right.

A sudden blow from the wraith snapped Gandalf out of his reflections and he thrust upwards with Gailcrist, narrowly blocking a downwards slash that would have taken off his arm at the shoulder. Sidestepping neatly, Gandalf backed away from the altar towards the far wall of the great chamber. The Nazgul raised it's dark blade and howled in fury, shaking the very walls of the room with its rage.

It gestured with it's free hand, the Ring of Power on its finger flashing, and one of the great flaming candelabras near Gandalf flew off the floor as if seized by an invisible hands and flung itself at the Grey Wizard. The Istar's eyes widened and he flung himself aside, mostly avoiding the flaming projectile, which glanced along his shoulder, igniting the cloth of his grey robes.

The Nazgul gave a shriek of triumph and Gandalf threw himself to the floor in haste, rolling along to put out the flames on his side. But this was what the wraith had been waiting for and it lunged at the wizard with vicious speed, it's rune-covered blade flashing at Gandalf's prone form. The Grey Wizard reached for his Elven-blade to try and parry but was too late and the Nazgul's wicked blade scored a direct hit, slashing a long gash along the wizard's right arm.

Gandalf could not suppress a shout of pain and he managed to roll away and came to his feet, his body wracked with pain both from his burns and the weeping wound on his arm. Standing a few meters away, the Nazgul wheezed and groaned in wicked laughter.

"Thou art feeble, old fool," it gloated, "Thy end is nigh. Now thou shall face death and agony for thy interference!"

Raising its left hand to point directly at Gandalf, the wraith curled its mailed fingers into claws and its Ring of Power shone brighter than ever before. Speaking in a rough voice, it uttered a deadly Word of Power and the air in the great chamber grew utterly still and then a great orb of fire sprang into existence in the Nazgul's black hand and shot straight towards Gandalf like a shooting star!

The flaming orb of scarlet and ochre rocketed towards Gandalf, the size of a small boulder capable of completely incinerating any Man or Elf. Calling on all the strength in his mortal body. Gandalf managed to bring his staff up, well aware that he was mere moments from being turned into a cinder. Channeling all the strength of his immortal spirit, the Grey Wizard uttered a single Word of Power. The crystal head of his staff flashed a deep ominous blue and a great blue-green fireball shot from it, mirroring the Nazgul's attack and heading right for it!

The great orbs of fire rocketed to their respective targets, opposite each other and neither made it, for the two burning orbs collided in mid-air. The result was an instantaneous and devastating explosion! The shockwave swept across the room, shattering the black altar into a thousand pieces, tearing the tapestries to shreds, warping the bronze braziers and throwing both wizard and wraith off their feet and flinging them to the opposite ends of the room like leaves caught in a mighty gale.

For several long moments the great chamber was silent, save for the falling of dust motes from the severely shaken ceiling. Beneath a tattered tapestry depicting Morgoth Bauglir upon his great throne in Angband, Gandalf the Grey stirred sluggishly. Struggling feebly, he managed to push the ragged banner off his body and managed to sit up and survey the damage done by the two spells. The room was a shambles, with broken stone and fallen debris everywhere.

Feeling a wave of immense exhaustion passing through his body, Gandalf turned his weary gaze down to his own frame and gaped. The explosion had charred his hair and beard, covering his face and hands in a fine layer of soot and his once-fine grey robes had been all but destroyed, leaving them in a shabby state.

A sudden movement at the far end of the room caught Gandalf's attention and he saw the Ringwraith getting to its feet, looking none the worse for wear. It's black robes were merely singed, and while its cruel helm had been knocked from its head, it still bore its Ring and its mighty sword. Feeling a fresh wave of fear flow chill his blood, Gandalf began to glance around in panic, searching for his staff. The hallowed rod had been knocked from his hand in the magical explosion and as his blue eyes darted around the chamber he could see no sign of it!

The Nazgul had gotten to its feet and was gliding across the room, the hem of its black robes brushing against the debris that covered the once-smooth floor. Panic and weariness ruled Gandalf's heart and he tried once more to get to his feet, only to collapse back on his knees, his mortal frame completely exhausted by the sheer amount of magical power he'd channeled through it, for mortal men were never meant to use such power and every spell the wizard cast took its toll on his mortal flesh.

The Nazgul drew perilously close and Gandalf found his fingers reaching for Narya to draw on the Red Ring to replenish his mortal body of strength. Realizing what he was about to do, he jerked his fingers away sharply, to use the Ring of Fire in the presence of one of Sauron's Ringwraiths was far too dangerous, especially in his weakened state. If the Enemy were to learn that the Grey Wizard bore the Red Ring, he would not rest until Gandalf was hunted down and slain.

Calling on every bit of strength that resided in his immortal spirit along with all the adrenaline and vigorous remaining in his mortal body, Gandalf gave a great bellow of exertion and managed, miraculously, to stand up. Not a moment too soon, as the Nazgul was suddenly before him, wicked blade falling in a lethal arc meant to end the Grey Wizard's life once and for all.

With his staff lost somewhere in the chamber, Gandalf had no choice but to bring up Gailcrist with his weary arms, deflecting the deadly blow with his fast fading strength. Staggering backwards from the force of the blow, Gandalf steeled himself for the final blow, knowing that he had no strength left to fight the tireless wraith. He had spent so much of his strength in the earlier battles in the fortress and the wraith before him seemed unstoppable, wielding a great and dark power that should have been beyond any man, even an undead wraith.

He was contemplating using Narya in this last desperate hour, for the alternative would be death and the failure of his mission as decreed by the Valar. Then the Ringwraith lunged forward in a motion that was faster than the eye could see and stabbed Gandalf in the abdomen!

The Istar's eyes widened in pure shock and then he fell down clutching his wound in pain, Gailcrist falling to the stone floor with a loud metallic clatter.

The Ringwraith let out a deafening shriek of triumph, pulling its sword free from Gandalf's lower chest and brandishing it high above its head. As the Grey Wizard lay on the floor with the life bleeding out of him, he waited for the death blow to fall…and nothing happened. Instead he heard the wraith screeching loudly in the Black Speech. To Gandalf's weary ears it seemed incoherent, something about victory and a reward. All he knew was that his enemy was distracted and that he still lived. Coaxing a tiny spark of fire from Narya to bolster his mortal frame one last time, Gandalf reached out with his right hand in an equally fast motion as the Nazgul's thrust, seized Gailcrist from the floor and stabbed the triumphant Nazgul in the knee as hard as he could.

For a moment nothing happened. Then the wraith screeched not in pain but in agony, a shriek of pain and rage and the Elven-blade was thrown from its leg by an unseen force, knocking it out of Gandalf's hand and to the floor where it smoked and burned and crumbled to dust. Howling in pain and frustration, the wraith made a grab for Gandalf with its mailed hands, but the Grey Wizard threw himself to the side and sprang to his feet. The spark of renewal from Narya had given him the strength he needed to escape, for he knew there was no chance for him to win this fight. He needed to flee Dol Guldur with all haste and bring his hard-won knowledge to the rest of the Wise so that they could plan a proper offensive and return with greater strength to stamp out the Ringwraith that called itself the Necromancer.

Glancing around, Gandalf saw that the main archway leading in and out of the chamber had been partially collapsed by the explosion and was blocked. Darting around, his blue eyes spotted a previously hidden archway that had been exposed when the explosion had destroyed the tapestry that had concealed it. Realizing that it was his only way out, Gandalf ran for the archway with all the speed he could muster, keeping one hand pressed to his chest wound, whispering a hasty spell of healing with what little power he could spare. On his way, a glint of polished wood caught his eye and he stooped briefly to brush the dust aside to discover his staff. Thanking Illuvatar for the miracle, Gandalf snatched up the instrument and symbol of his power and dashed for the exit, hearing the pained howls of the Nazgul as it pursued him relentlessly.

Gandalf tore down the hallway, supporting his weary body with his recovered staff, allowing tiny sparks of power from Narya to strengthen him, too small to detect but just enough to steady his body every so slightly. Turning a corner, he ran through another archway and cursed his fortune as he came out on a wide balcony that had no other exit. Staring at the two hundred foot drop that separated him from the forest floor, Gandalf tried to fight the despair that threatened to consume his spirit. Readying his staff with what strength he had left, he took up a position away from the archway and prepared himself for what might be his final battle.

The injured wraith burst out onto the balcony, sharp sword raised in a battle stance. Shrieking in bloodlust, the Nazgul charged at Gandalf without restraint, pain-maddened and slashing without abandon. The Grey Wizard twisted aside, avoiding the first flurry of blows and parrying the few he could not avoid with his staff which held up against the savage steel without complaint.

The two combatants duelled for several moments before the Nazgul screeched in annoyance and draw back along the balcony, raising its left hand once again, it's Ring of Power glowing brightly.

Knowing exactly what was coming, a sudden intuition came over Gandalf and he thrust his staff not at the Nazgul but at the stone beneath its iron-shod feet and shouted a Word of Power with all the strength that remained in his exhausted body.

The red flames gathered in the Nazgul's mailed hand and just as it was preparing to unleash its deadly attack to finish the Grey Wizard once and for all, a ear-splitting crack resounded through the air. For a moment the Nazgul hesitated and then screeched in panic as the stone balcony broke beneath its feet. The fire died in its gloved hand and it flailed about at as it fell far away to the forest floor.

Gandalf collapsed to the stone floor, his staff clattering out of his hand and rolling to rest a few meters away. He seized the black stone railing of the balcony and pulled himself up a bit to glance down at the ground far below, trying to get a glimpse of his enemy. But he could see nothing at all from this height, just the dark, twisted trees of South Mirkwood, doused in shadow by the thick black clouds that ever hung over Dol Guldur.

Suddenly he felt a great diminishment, a departure of a great force. The evil aura of terror and despair that enveloped Dol Guldur was swiftly fading, disappearing entirely. A warm wind picked up from the West and swept over Dol Guldur, blowing the great black clouds away with no resistance. Within a few moments the clean bright light of the Sun was shining down on the dark fortress, bathing it's crumbling walls and vine-infested windows in pure sunlight. The dark power that had dominated the fortress for nigh a millennium was gone, having vanished without a trace!

Leaning against the tower's outer walls in disbelief Gandalf the Grey looked at the bright afternoon sun with an expression of pure gratitude and triumph. Beyond all odds, against an enemy mightier than he, he had prevailed. The Necromancer had been destroyed!


	9. The Thanks of Thranduil

**The Thanks of Thranduil**

The Sun was shining brightly through the healthy trees of North Mirkwood and Gandalf the Grey was striding along the smooth pathway of the Great Forest Road with a smile on his aged face. Walking beside him was Captain Navari, who despite his ragged garb and still filthy hair looked full of hope and light. Behind the Elf and the Wizard were the survivors of the Elven revolt in Dol Guldur that Gandalf had sparked.

By the time the Grey Wizard had managed to make his way down to the eight level of the tower after the defeat of the Necromancer, Captain Navari and his people had managed to slay the vast majority of the Orcs that had been present in the tower at the time if the revolt. The cave-in Gandalf had caused on the first floor had kept the thousands of Orcs in the warrens trapped and unable to intervene in the conflict.

As soon as Gandalf had joined them and given them the news that his mission was a complete success, they had fled the tower with all haste. Now Gandalf and the four score of Elves that had survived the attack were trekking back to the Woodland Realm, where Navari and people were eager to return after spending so much time in torturous captivity.

As his party crossed a shallow stream, Gandalf pondered the things he had seen in the highest chambers of Dol Guldur after the Ringwraith that had called itself the Necromancer had fallen from the balcony, apparently to its death. Upon the wraith's defeat, Gandalf had been able to shift the rubble sealing the Altar Room and had explored the other chambers in the pinnacle of the tower. He had seen many more atrocities and abominations in the Necromancer's workrooms and had at length come to an expansive throne room of dark majesty.

The chamber had been devoid of any life when Gandalf had forced his way inside, and though he'd searched the entire room, he'd found almost nothing of significance, aside from a few scrolls written in the Black Speech. Those Gandalf had wrapped in one of the intact tapestries in the throne room and had taken with him for further examination.

Pushing aside the weighty thoughts for the moment, Gandalf stretched out his arms and inhaled a deep breath of the clean forest air. The foul darkness that had blanketed the forest for an entire millennium had departed and the entirety of Mirkwood felt brighter and cleaner. The trees near Thranduil's realm were healthy and vigorous, with the leaves just starting to turn red-gold as summer began to fade into autumn. Birdsong filled the air and here and there the native flora and fauna of the forest could be seen poking out of brambles or trees.

All the Elves that had escaped Dol Guldur were laughing and singing, exulting in both their freedom and the absence of darkness from their great realm. While the forest had not been restored to the lush beauty that had been Greenwood the Great, Gandalf has no doubt that the Wood-Elves would soon chase away the few remnants of the Necromancer's presence and in time, the forest would be fully cleansed.

The forest road was easy to traverse now that the evil creatures that served the Necromancer had lost their guiding will and not a single spider assailed them for the entire journey. At length, the group had come to the edge of Thranduil's kingdom and stood before the great gate that Gandalf had passed through several months ago.

Stepping forward, Gandalf called out in a cheerful tenor, "Hail Captain Hausein!"

There was sudden sounds of movement on the upper walkway of the gate and a dozen Elven archers appeared out of nowhere, their lethal bows nocked and ready to fire on a moment's notice. Then a thirteenth figure appeared behind the archers, clad in familiar silver armour with an arrogant expression on his youthful face.

"Mithrandir?"

Hausein stepped to the edge of the parapet and frowned down at Gandalf, "Do wizards have potatoes instead of ears? Or do they simply think themselves above the rulings of Kings and choose to ignore their decrees at all opportunities?"

The Captain gaze Gandalf a very serious look, "King Thranduil banished you from our realm for a full century, Mithrandir, and you will find that his mindset has not changed in the few months you have been gone."

"I bring tidings that may do just that, Captain," Gandalf replied, his blue eyes twinkling with good humour.

Hausein's frown deepened, "Do these tidings have anything to do with the ragged band of vagabonds that have you have led to our borders? The King has little tolerance for beggars in our lands, and bringing an entire company of them will only further his anger towards you."

Gandalf returned Hausein's frown with one of his own, "Perhaps you should take a closer look at those whom you call beggars, good captain."

Hausein blinked at Gandalf's words and focused his gaze on the bedraggled prisoners Gandalf had rescued and his eyes widened.

"Brother!"

Hausein abruptly vanished from the top of the gate and a few moments later he exited the gate via an hidden door in the main wall. Approaching the poorly clad Captain Navari, Hausein drew close but stopped just shy of physical contact.

"Navari, my younger brother, is that truly you?"

Navari looked at Hausein with a wide smile and embraced the Elf with great affection.

"It is I indeed, brother. My heart warms to see you again."

Hausein embraced his lost kinsman for a long moment before drawing back and taking a good look at his brother's filthy appearance.

"We had thought you dead, brother. Slain at the hands of the Necromancer's servants."

He turned a suspicious look on Gandalf, "How is this possible Mithrandir? Is this some sort of illusion?"

Navari laughed and clapped his brother on the shoulder, "Always so suspicious, little brother. It is I, Navari, son of Melien and Turien."

Hausein's mouth opened and closed with no noise.

"How…?"

"The Necromancer has been destroyed!" Gandalf declared in a deep voice that boomed throughout the clearing.

"His servants have fled and his tower lies empty. The darkness has left the Woodland Realm!"

Hausein looked stunned as did the archers on the gate. They began whispering to each other in awe and the Captain of the Gate looked at Gandalf with amazement.

"This is your doing Mithrandir," he said in a enthralled tone, "You have destroyed the evil!"

"Not singlehanded did I do this," Gandalf said, "Your brave brother and all the others who stand here before you did their part as well. The Necromancer held them prisoner in his black dungeons, but when I chanced upon them and liberated them, they fought his minions with great resolve."

Hausein looked back forth from Gandalf and the freed Elves. He seemed to ponder this news for several long moments. Then he nodded to himself, coming to a decision.

"Such momentous news must be brought before the King at once," he said, "And His Majesty will wish to hear it from the messenger himself."

He looked up at the archers, "Open the gate and allow Mithrandir and our freed brothers and sisters into the Woodland Realm."

Most of the Elves on the parapet moved to comply, but one of them looked at Hausein with disapproval.

"The King's command was that Mithrandir was banished from our realm for a full century," the stubborn Elf said firmly.

"I will personally take responsibility for permitting him to enter our lands, Vailan" Hausein said, "As the Captain of the Gate, I order you to open it at once and allow Mithrandir and the others to enter so that they may bear these important tidings to the King personally."

The recalcitrant Vailan seemed satisfied with that, and the gate opened soundlessly in a few moments. Clasping his brother on the shoulder, Hausein led Gandalf and the liberated Elves into the Woodland Realm.

The large party traversed the path to the King's Halls, Hausein speaking with his brother in rapid Sindarin while the other Elves were glancing around their homeland in delight, marvelling at the wondrous sights they had forgotten in their brutal imprisonment. As they walked past the many houses and settlements of the Wood-Elves the freed prisoners drew attention from all who caught sight of them.

Many of the Elves were seen by members of their family who clustered around them, clasping their hands in amazement, hugging and kissing their family that had been miraculously returned to them. Gandalf took in all the merriment with a laugh, his aged features alight with happiness at the return of the Elves to their loved ones.

Most of the freed Elves wanted to go their homes and be with their family, but Captain Hausein insisted that Gandalf and all the former prisoners be brought before Thranduil.

"For the King may not give credence to your tidings, Mithrandir. Welcome as they are, they are also difficult to believe. Seeing so many Elves that he considered to be dead brought before him alive will help to convince him of the truth of your words."

Yet none of the Elves who had been reunited with their kin wished to let them out of their sight and by the time they had neared the peaceful dene where Thranduil's palace lay, their party numbered almost three hundred. They were all crowding down the great road and Gandalf was certain that with so much popular support, he would have little difficulty in obtaining a reversal of his banishment.

They entered the glen without fanfare and were promptly confronted by a full score of guards that demanded an explanation for the jubliant mob that was making for the palace. Several of the guards had family that been freed however and with Captain Hausein's quick words of reassurance, the great party was allowed to proceed.

They had little further to go it turned out, for streaming out into the lush grassy clearing that lay before the palace were the King and his guards. Accompanied by Prince Legolas, Thranduil had come to discover the source of the great commotion that was taking place within his estate.

Standing before the great mob, Thranduil drew himself up to a regal height, his silver crown resting upon his smooth blonde hair, it's flawless emeralds glittering in the afternoon sunlight.

"What is the meaning of this disturbance?"

The King crossed his slender arms over his chest, the red-gold fabric of his royal garments rippling slightly. His sky-blue eyes scanned the crowd and as they fell upon Gandalf, they widened in fury.

"How dare you return here, Mithrandir!"

The King's expression transformed from inquisitive annoyance to righteous anger and he jabbed an slender finger at the Grey Wizard.

"Seize this vagabond of a Wizard and clap him irons at once!"

The King's Guards moved to comply and Gandalf waxed wroth, having reached the end of his limited patience for Thranduil's continued short-sightedness.

"Cease these meaningless posturing!" Gandalf declared in a deep voice.

Drawing himself up to his full height, he raised his staff and suddenly appeared to be a great figure, hidden power shining from deep within in his core.

"The Necromancer of Dol Guldur has been destroyed! His foul creatures are fleeing the forest as we speak. The darkness has lifted from your realm, Son of Oropher!"

Gesturing to the ragged prisoners who stood behind him with their families, Gandalf continued his impassioned speech.

"Through my actions the Shadow over Mirkwood has been lifted and it's people have been freed from the grip of Darkness!"

Thranduil said nothing, but his sky-blue eyes gazed at the Elves that had accompanied the Grey Wizard. As he took in the wretched condition of so many of the captives his expression softened and he looked at Gandalf with respect.

"If these tidings are indeed true, then you shall have my utmost gratitude, Mithrandir. But how do I know that you speak the truth?"

Captain Hausein stepped forward, "It is no deception my liege." He grasped his brother warmly by the shoulder and drew him forward.

"My beloved brother, thought slain in combat but instead captured, has returned to us. As have four score more!"

The Prince gasped in recognition and dashed forward and clasped Navari by the arms.

"My friend," he cried, "My old, dear friend, can it be?"

Navari laughed and embraced the Prince as one does with a friend of old.

"It is me, my friend, freed from my chains by the grace of the Valar and the aid of Mithrandir!"

Thranduil looked at Gandalf with deep gratitude shining in his pale eyes.

"I see now that I was wrong to doubt you, Mithrandir."

Drawing himself up with royal dignity, Thranduil inclined his head in a respectful gesture.

"By my sovereign majesty, I hereby rescind your banishment from the Woodland Realm."

The Elven-King drew close to the Grey Wizard and took the Istar's hand in a gesture of respect and friendship.

"As the King of these lands, I offer you my personal gratitude as well as the gratitude of my realm. You have proven yourself to be a friend of the Woodland Realm beyond any doubt."

Gandalf smiled warmly and returned the gesture, his bearded face alight with triumph and satisfaction.

"There are many things that I have to tell you about what I discovered in Dol Guldur," the Grey Wizard said with a hint of graveness.

"Of course," Thranduil said, "But there will be time enough for that in the coming days."

The Elven-King flung his arms out wide, his rich robes rippling in the warm breeze that swept through the dene, "The Darkness has left our realm! This is a day of great importance."

He turned to his guards, "Bring food and drink for all," he commanded, "Tonight we celebrate this victory!"

The King's servants moved to comply and the Elven-King gave Gandalf a look of deep gratitude.

"We owe this all to you, Mithrandir," he said warmly, "Already as I reach out with my mind, I can feel the darkness lifting and light returning to our beloved forest."

"Indeed," Gandalf said, "I deem that your lands shall have peace for many long years to come."

The Elves all rejoiced and the dene was filled with laughter and merriment as all revelled in the departure of evil. The sun swiftly fell into the West and the clear night sky shine with dazzling stars, beautiful singing songbirds and the clean white light of the Moon.


	10. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The setting Sun was shining bright in the evening sky, a great orange-red orb that painted the land of Lothlorien with a warm golden light as it sank beneath the snow-clad peaks of the towering Misty Mountains that lay to the West. From the high terrace of Celeborn and Galadriel's manse, Gandalf the Grey stood adjacent to the slim decorative railing, his bright blue eyes observing the spectacular sunset.

A light evening breeze swept across the expansive balcony, stirring Gandalf's immaculate slate-grey robes that gleamed in the fading light. A full month had passed since the Istar had taken his leave of Thranduil and had returned to Lothlorien to deliver the news of his success to the Lord and Lady. The timeless beauty of the Golden Wood had completely restored Gandalf's vigor and he had enjoyed the warm hospitality of his hosts immensely.

"Truly beautiful," the Grey Wizard remarked as the last rays of the Sun faded away.

"Beauty must be cherished," Celeborn assented, throwing an adoring look at his wife, who sat upon a comfortable chair made of the silver wood of a fallen mallorn branch. Clad in a shimmering dress made of silver silk, the Lady of the Golden Wood looked as beautiful as ever.

Galadriel laughed and threw her husband a look of mild chastisement, "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, my love."

Laughing in delight at their amusing banter, Gandalf stepped away from the railing and joined the two Elves at the white table that lay at the center of the terrace. Settling into a vacant chair, Gandalf leaned back in the comfortable chaise and accepted a slender glass of golden wine from Celeborn.

"To you, Mithrandir," Celeborn said, raising his own glass to the Grey Wizard, "For your deeds of heroism have brought a much-needed peace to these lands."

Galadriel mimicked her husband's gesture and Gandalf raised his glass as well, his aged face awash with humility.

"I simply do what I can to aid the Free People," the Istar said, taking a long draught of the sweet wine.

"Your deeds are only raised in greatness with your humble nature," Galadriel said, her blue eyes gazing at Gandalf with gratitude.

"Thanks to your great work, we now have peace across the river."

Smiling at the Lady's compliments, Gandalf set his glass down on the table with a soft clink.

"The warriors are in place, then?"

"Indeed," Celeborn replied, his cool blue eyes shining with a stern determination.

After Gandalf had shared his full tale with Thranduil, the Elven-King had mustered his full army and had personally led them to Dol Guldur to destroy the Orcs that had been trapped in the warrens beneath the fortress. Gandalf had accompanied them to the dark tower and over the course of several days the Elven-Host had thoroughly ransacked the entire tower. Dozens of additional prisoners had been freed, thousands of confused and frightened Orcs had been slain mercilessly and every last abomination that the Necromancer had created had been utterly destroyed.

Once the tower had been fully cleansed, Thranduil had left a small garrison behind to keep a watchful eye on the fortress and to discourage any servants of Evil from gathering there again. Afterwards, the Elven-King had asked Gandalf to convey a message to the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien, requesting that the two kingdoms collaborate on a joint watch over South Mirkwood, for the Necromancer had troubled both their lands.

Upon arriving at Lothlorien, Gandalf had conveyed Thranduil's missive to Galadriel and Celeborn, whom, after a brief discussion, had agreed wholeheartedly. Celeborn had personally led a group of Galadhrim warriors to Dol Guldur to join the Sylvan Elves in occupying the fortress. It had been Thranduil's hope that such a joint venture would help foster better ties between the two realms of Eldar, a notion that Gandalf had supported wholeheartedly.

"The garrison is in place," Celeborn continued, "A full score of our Galadhrim warriors and a matching number of Woodland Elves. I've instructed Captain Haldir to keep a close eye on the surrounding woods for any sign of straggling Orcs or spiders."

A look of thoughtfulness crossed Gandalf's aged features and his blue eyes narrowed.

"They will likely find none," he remarked, "Thranduil's army swept the entirety of South Mirkwood in their purge of the forest. While it will take time for Mirkwood to return to its former glory, the shadow has departed from those lands…"

His voice trailed off, leaving a note of uncertainty in the cool evening air.

"And yet you seem troubled," Galadriel commented, her golden tresses flowing down her shoulders, the radiant strands shining with the long-lost light of the Two Trees of Valinor.

"The true identity of the Necromancer still troubles me," Gandalf admitted, his aged brow furrowed in thought.

Galadriel's youthful face took on a grave expression, "From what you've told us, it seems that we were mistaken as to the identity of the Sorcerer. It was not the Dark Lord as we thought, but rather one of the Nine Ringwraiths, as Thranduil had suspected."

"Yes…" Gandalf allowed his tone uneasy, "The enemy I faced was without a doubt a Ringwraith and not Sauron himself. And upon his defeat, the darkness left Dol Guldur immediately."

Celeborn's cool blue eyes narrowed, "I notice that you said defeat, Mithrandir, and not destruction. Was the wraith not destroyed completely?"

Gandalf stroked his long beard in thought, "I cannot be sure," he said with uncertainty, "For I searched the entirety of the bald hill upon which Dol Guldur sits and I found no trace of the wraith that I fought nor it's Ring of Power."

Galadriel's expression grew even graver and she reached for her glass, taking a slow sip of the sparkling wine.

"Then the Necromancer was not destroyed" Celeborn exclaimed in dismay, "He may yet return!"

"I…cannot be sure," Gandalf said, his voice laden with doubt, "My knowledge of Ringlore is incomplete. I do know that the spirits of the Nine Kings of Men who became Ringwraiths are tied to the will of Sauron. And as long as the One Ring exists on this Middle Earth, Sauron's spirit will endure."

"We know for a fact that the Ring still exists," Galadriel said with certainty, "That fact is not in doubt. And if his Ring still endures, then so does Sauron."

"Then the Necromancer still lives," Celeborn said, his pale-skinned face awash with apprehension.

"Yes," Gandalf said sadly, "As long as the One Ring exists, the spirits of the Nine Nazgul are bound to this earth. I believe I was able to destroy the wraith's physical form, but its spirit remains on this earth, though I believe it shall remain impotent for many centuries to come. Even Sauron himself needed over a hundred years to rebuild his hroa after his death in the Downfall of Numenor."

"All the more need for the watch on Dol Guldur," Celeborn stated, "I shall inform Captain Haldir of these details when I next visit the garrison."

Nodding at her husband, Galadriel's penetrating gaze sought out Gandalf, "Is Thranduil aware of these facts?"

"He is indeed," Gandalf assented, "It was because of this news that he decided that a vigilant presence was needed."

"Then there is little more we can do," Galadriel said, taking another sip of her wine, rolling the liquid in its slender glass to strengthen the flavor.

"Indeed," Celeborn concurred, "Our lands shall thrive under the new peace that has come, but we shall also remain observant, for evil may return one day to our lands."

Gandalf looked pensive and raised his glass to his lips and drained the vessel of its intoxicating contents. Rising to his feet, the Grey Wizard returned to the balcony and placed his aged palms on it for support and raised his gaze to the heavens above.

The light of the Sun had faded completely and the cool darkness of the night had fallen. Not a single cloud hung in the night sky and dozens of bright stars shone in the inky black vault of the sky, their mesmerising light shining down on the Free Lands of the North. High above Lothlorien, the full Moon was coming into view, its great white orb visible to all.

"The Watchful Peace has begun," Gandalf said, "May it last for many centuries and may the Free People prosper under the safety and security that has come."

With a smile on his aged features, the Grey Wizard turned away from the railing and rejoined his friends at the table. Celeborn refilled his glass and Galadriel gave him a beautiful smile that warmed Gandalf's heart. Laughing in merriment, the Istar raised the glass to his lips and drank deeply, his spirit satisfied and pleased. High above him, the clean white light of the Moon shone down on the three companions, bathing all the lands in its pure radiant gleams. The song of nightingales filled the woods of Lothlorien, mixing with the laughter of celebrating Elves. All the land was now at peace.


End file.
